


The Stations

by callingallcomas



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awkwardness, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Daryl Whump, Hurt/Comfort, IT'S A BIT GRIM, Kidnapping, Lucille Scene, M/M, Negan Being Negan, SEASON 7 SPOILERS/WILD SPECULATION, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, attempted is very vaguely implicated tbh, comic spoilers maybe?, i'm downgrading this to M mostly for language but it will get higher eventually, just warning y'all, tara is also super wise, tara is the best fight me, there's a couple of lil aaric moments in here now because i love themmmmm, they are both stubborn assholes who need to have a GOD DAMN CONVERSATION TBH, they don't get any scenes together until midway through JUST WARNING Y'ALL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callingallcomas/pseuds/callingallcomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Negan obliterates a beloved member of the group and takes another captive. This is the story of what happened next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This starts just after Negan swings the bat, so gore warnings should be applied accordingly. Contains stuff based around some rumours swirling around about season 7, so if you want to go into the whole thing unspoiled then maybe give this a miss! Anything past the first couple of chapters will be wild speculation, mind you. If you're still with me after all that, enjoy! Jesus turns up a little later, but he gets there, I promise.

_No!_

The sound of muffled screams mixed with the rushing noise in his ears, the sound of boots pacing on dead leaves forced it's way through the fuzz as rivulets of dark red blood slithered their way through the soft mud on the ground, sliding past his knees. He cringed inwardly as the warm liquid sank into the material of his jeans as it drifted by with little he could do to stop it. Maggie's voice sliced through the muddy cacophony of noise like a blade, howling her husband's name at the prone, bloody figure that lay to his right, the others clutching at her tightly as she tried to scramble across the floor towards him. It was better to hold her back, he thought, not able to bring himself to look again but sure that she didn't need to see it up close. The sight and the sound of wood and metal splitting bone wasn't something that was likely to leave him in a hurry. The cold night time breeze made him tense and shake, numbness spreading upwards from his feet, toes buzzing with pins and needles from sitting on them for so long. Fragments of soft, fleshy matter slid down the canvas sheet that had been thrown over him in the van unnoticed and dripped onto the floor with a wet thump. 

Daryl wasn't sure if he was at death's door right then but it sure as shit felt like it, his skin clammy and slick with sweat and a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach. He would have puked if there was anything left in him to bring up and right then, death felt like it would be some kind of mercy, instead of having to process the horror show that had unfolded around him. The bullet wound burned, from the top of his chest right through to his shoulder, the blood around his torn flesh making his shirt stick unpleasantly to his back. Strangely, that was the thing that hurt the least right then. 

He almost felt outside himself, like he was hovering inches above his body as chaos erupted all around him. Though the skill was acquired through brutal means, he was grateful right then for the ability he had to detach himself, when the shock was too great, when the pain got too much, his natural response was just to close down before it could destroy him. He didn't know that he'd still be around now if he hadn't learned. Grief echoed around the woods, in front of Negan and his rapt audience, standing around all casual like, as though they had just been treated to a show, rather than an unnecessarily brutal execution. He supposed that was what passed for entertainment for these people. Had he the means, he would have sliced through every sick grin before him and enjoyed every god damn second of it. 

But then, he supposed, that is what had put himself, Glenn, Michonne and Rosita in the back of that van in the first place. As far as he was concerned, those three were out in those woods because of him. The idea that Glenn would have been with Maggie in the RV regardless wasn't something that had even crossed his mind in the whirlwind of guilt that rose from his gut and threatened to suffocate him. They were in danger because of him. Glenn was dead because he cared enough to go chasing after Daryl, because he'd tried to talk some sense into him when he'd decided to hunt Dwight down and make him pay for what he had done to Denise. Hell, he might as well have beat Glenn to death himself, the level of blame would, in his mind, be about equal. 

“Now. I think it's time to talk.” 

Daryl slowly lifted his gaze to Negan, stomach rolling as his eyes immediately fell to the bat, to _Lucille_ , her head stained red, torn flesh hanging limply from her barbs. He imagined his hands wrapping around her taped handle, raising it over Negan's head and painting the scenery with his brains. His fists clenched unconsciously, resisting the urge to launch himself forward, suicide mission or not. His nails dug into his skin so ferociously that the skin broke, slow trails of blood sliding satisfyingly into his palms. 

“You've got a week.” Negan began, directing his instructions at Rick. Daryl tried to catch his eye, but Rick's gaze wasn't focussing on anything. He scarcely looked like himself, cowed and trembling on his knees. Daryl had seen Rick lead them through a parade of horrors, but this might just have been the straw that broke the camel's back. Seeing Rick look so shattered, after everything they had all fought against, was nothing short of terrifying. 

“Y'hear me, Rick?” Negan repeated, banging Lucille against his boot to get Rick's attention. “One week, and I expect half of your shit to be ready to load up. I want it gift wrapped. I want a fuckin' bow on it.” He joked - or at least Daryl hoped he was joking. “I mean _sure_ , you could refuse – but if you do, this shit-” Negan thrust his bat in the direction of Glenn's body. “-Is gonna keep happening. One by one, every one of your people is gonna go on a date with Lucille here and I'll make you watch it every single time until you give me what I want.” Gesturing towards Carl, he smirked. “You don't want your boy to end up like the Chinaman over there.” 

“He's _Korean_.”

The words burst out of Daryl before he could stop them and the collective gasp from the remainder of the group was audible. Negan slowly turned his head towards him and a broad grin stretched his lips taut against his teeth until it looked more like a snarl. 

“He also hasn't got a head any more. I do not give a shit about either of those two things.” 

A flash of anger flared behind Daryl's eyes but Negan pre-empted it before he could so much as move. His gun was drawn and trained on Carl's head in miliseconds. 

“I wouldn't, if I were you.” 

Michonne fixed Daryl with a wide-eyed glare and Rick shook his head quickly. Daryl remained on his knees, despite the near all-consuming urge to rise to his feet and attack. 

“So anyway,” Negan continued glibly. “Do we have a deal, Rick?” 

“Yes.” Rick answered weakly, finally lifting his gaze to meet Negan's. 

“Hmm.” He rubbed the stubble on his cheek thoughtfully. “You know, I'm really not sure I can take your word for it.” 

“You can. You _can_. We'll give you what you want, just-” 

“Nah.” Negan shook his head, starting to pace again. “I tell you what, I think I'm gonna need to take a little collateral, just to make sure you keep your end of the bargain. Y'know, just to be sure.” 

“Don't. Please Don't.” Rick begged desperately. “I give you my word.” 

“Well that's nice an' all. But your _word_ don't mean shit to me, Rick.” He chuckled. “Tell you what, here's how we're gonna do this.” He pointed the bat at Maggie. “This one.” He turned to Daryl, jabbing the weapon towards him. “Or this one. Both look like they need a doctor. Carrying two of 'em is only gonna slow you down anyway – so which one? If you do what you're told, you'll get 'em back all patched up. If not? Well, you get the picture, I'm sure.” 

Rick was visibly wrestling with the decision, glancing between the two of them knowing that whoever he sent, seeing how sick both of them were, he could potentially sending either one to their deaths. Rick had no intentions of not complying with Negan's requests, as much as he didn't want to, but also knew that he could change his mind on a whim purely to send a message, as if it hadn't already been received loud and clear as it was. 

He must have looked as lost as he felt because Daryl caught his eye and gave him a slight nod of the head. As long as he was breathing, he wouldn't allow Maggie to be sent away with the baying mob that cheered on the slaughter of her husband and, after all, it was the least he could do to atone for what he'd caused. 

“Him. Daryl.” Rick said, lifting a hand to shakily point towards him. He made eye contact with Daryl and shook his head apologetically, to which Daryl simply shrugged. Rick would do the same had the shoe been on the other foot, he was sure of it. 

“Alrighty!” Negan said gleefully, seemingly delighted by the prospect of having Daryl as a captive. “Well, I'm sure you people have got places to go, people to see.” He nodded towards the group of Saviors standing behind Daryl. “Put this one back in the van.” 

The men stalked forwards, hooking their arms under Daryl's and lifting him away from the ground with little warning and little care for how much pain it caused to his injured arm. He didn't look back at the group when he was bundled back into the cramped rear of the van, mainly because he didn't want his last memory of them to be one of them looking so irreparably broken.

The doors slammed shut and moments later, the engine started. In the absence of windows, or some way to track where the van was headed, Daryl curled up on the hard, ridged floor, and closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl receives an unexpected proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so after this chapter, we're out of the spoiler/speculation stuff and into stuff that will probably never happen. Hope you're enjoying it so far.

Although he tried to stay awake for a while to try and figure out the route the van was taking, somewhere along the way, Daryl passed out from sheer exhaustion, and was only roused when the van doors swung open and he found himself being manhandled back outside and led towards what could best be described as a small, brick outbuilding within the grounds of a much larger complex. If this was Negan's headquarters, it was _huge_ , with more than enough room to accommodate the crew he had out in the woods and more besides. A large brick building stood in the centre, with more structures extending away from it in all directions, some that had clearly been built before and others that had been constructed (competently, Daryl noted) as an extension. He was amazed they had never come across it before but the surroundings were unfamiliar, meaning it had to be some distance away from both Alexandria and Hilltop. Over the buildings, the sun was just starting to rise and Daryl figured they must have been travelling for a good few hours or more – on the slim prospect of getting out and back to Alexandria alive, he took mental notes of everything significant that he could see, knowing that sooner or later, it might prove useful when the time finally came to give Negan what he so sorely deserved.

Large hands urged him to the corner of the room before roughly turning him around and shoving at his chest until he staggered back and landed heavily on his behind, grunting at the jarring sensation in his shoulder as he did. Reaching behind him, one of the Saviors produced a pair of steel handcuffs and grabbed Daryl's uninjured arm roughly, snapping one bracelet around his wrist and the other around a large pipe that ran along the entirety of the hut's back wall.

“Someone'll come see you soon.” His captor said ominously, turning away and slamming the reinforced steel door closed behind him.

Sighing, Daryl leaned back against the cold bricks and sighed, still shuddering uncontrollably. It was only then in the harsh strip lights that lined the ceiling, that he saw the gore and mess that had splattered the canvas draped over his shoulders. Horrified, he tore the fabric away and threw it across the room, staring at it in disgust as a thick lump rose in the back of his throat. Gulping for air, he buried his face in his hands.

“Not pretty, is it?”

The voice sounded so close that his head snapped up, knowing that nobody had walked through that door since he was thrown in there. Glenn sat cross-legged in front of him, several red trails coursing down from his forehead and over his cheeks, stemming from a large, gaping split in the top of his head. Daryl lurched back, pressing himself back against the wall, his eyes wide and glassy.

“Oh fuck, no.” He gasped shakily, his knees drawing up to his chest. _This is it_ , he thought, he'd finally fucking lost it. Christ, maybe this was hell and he was finally getting what was coming to him.

“Why couldn't you just come home?” Glenn asked, his voice sounding calm and measured for a man who had just had his skull caved in.

“I don't know.” Daryl's head lowered and he shook it slowly as tears started to spill over onto his cheeks.

“Look what they did to me, man!” Glenn insisted, and Daryl could have sworn he felt a shove against his leg. He repeated himself, a hint of anger in his voice this time. “Look at me!”

“I'm sorry, Glenn. I'm so sorry.” He whispered, lifting his head to find the other man still sat there, a look of pure disappointment on his face.

“I'm never going to see Maggie again. I'll never get to see my child's _face_ because of you.”

“I know.” Daryl agreed, nodding his head and wanting to appease the voice just so it would _shut up_. “I know.”

“If there's any justice, that wound'll kill you.” Glenn said, his voice seemingly starting to change, weaving in and out between his own and Merle's rough cadence. “Either that or Negan'll put'cha out of yer misery. Then again, maybe that's gettin' off lightly."

When Daryl looked again, Glenn was gone. His face crumpled and he slumped bonelessly against the wall, burying his face into his free arm to muffle the loud, convulsive sobs that were forcing their way out with little he could do to stop them. Blood started seeping through the makeshift dressing covering the bullet hole again, and Daryl had half a mind to pray that it wouldn't stop. Eventually, he passed out again, sat upright and slouched against the wall.

* * *

An hour or two later, the door opened and two familiar figures walked through, closing it behind them. Dwight and Sherry both walked through. Barely awake, Daryl started and coiled defensively against the wall, eyes wild.

"The fuck are you doin' here?" He barked angrily. "You stay the hell away from me."

The two looked at each other and Sherry gently closed the door, moving towards him unpeturbed.

"You deaf?!" He asked, voice getting louder and more frantic. "I said back off!"

Sighing, Dwight gestured to Sherry. Daryl recognised her as one of the women Dwight had been with the day that he should have put a bolt through his skull.

"She's a nurse. Negan sent us to treat that injury of yours." He explained, and Sherry lifted a medical bag as if it were proof.

"Y'mean the one _you_ gave me?" Daryl glared, jabbing his finger towards him viciously. "You're lucky they chained me up - I oughta break your god damn neck for what you did to Denise. What you let Negan do to Glenn-"

"Woah, woah. Hold up a second." Dwight raised his hands. "I didn't _let_ Negan do anything. Negan does as he damn well pleases - or did you not figure that out yet, genius?" He pursed his lips and nodded. "That chick friend of yours though, you do have me on that one."

"Mother _fucker!_ " Daryl snarled, momentarily forgetting his restraints and lunging at Dwight to no avail.

"And this is exactly why I ain't comin' near you." Dwight said, patting Sherry on the shoulder and producing a pistol from the waistband of his trousers. "I'm just here for security. You hurt her, I'll put a fucking bullet in your head, and then you're never gettin' out of here. Got it?"

Daryl turned to look at Sherry. She had a look in her eyes that he recognised. He'd seen it in Carol once upon a time, in the girlfriends of the lowlifes that he and Merle had run around with before everything went to shit. He'd seen it in his own mother, many years ago. Daryl Dixon was a lot of things, but never in a million years did he want to be the reason that a woman had that look in her eyes. He settled his temper for her sake, and her sake alone.

"Yeah." He said with a slight nod, and a look of relief crossed Sherry's face.

Dwight took him at his word, and Sherry walked over to where Daryl was chained, unfastening the cuff on the pipe and leading him by the chain to a chair in the corner of the room, letting him sit down before fastening the restraint to the arm. Nervously, she approached him and dutifully unfastened his shirt, carefully peeling it away from his chest on the injured side, and doing away with the blood-sodden dressing that covered the wound, the one the Saviors had slapped on just so he didn't bleed out and miss seeing his friend get his brains smashed in. Daryl spotted the way her eyes widened at the sight of the ragged hole in his skin, but she didn't miss a beat, reaching into her pocket and perching a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose before crouching down to retrieve some sterile alcohol and cotton pads to clean the injury.

"This is gonna sting a little." She advised in a small voice, soaking a pad in the solution and carefully starting to wipe away the browning, dried blood from his skin. As soon as it touched the wound, Daryl's nerves came alive and it took all of his resolve not to recoil away from the pain, a deep burning sensation travelling from his chest to his shoulder and he gripped the arm of the chair so hard that it was almost in danger of splintering from the pressure.

"Fuck." He growled lowly, screwing his eyes closed against the sting that filled them. He turned his head towards Dwight. "Why didn't I kill you when I had the chance?"

"Because you ain't a bad guy. You didn't have to, so you didn't."

"Yeah. Well I do now." Daryl said, hissing through his teeth as another shooting pain sliced at his nerves.

"You know, we were running from Negan when you found us." Sherry interjected, trying to distract Daryl from projecting his ire at her husband. "We don't want to be here any more than you do."

"Sherry." Dwight warned, "Walls have ears."

"They're all over there getting drunk off their asses. Celebrating what they did. It's _sick_." She snapped, placing a pile of bloody cotton pads on the floor. "We should've gone with him when we had the chance. Look what happened to you!" She said, gesturing at Dwight's face.

"What _did_ happen to you?" Daryl asked raspily, eyeing the huge burn that ran from his hairline to the middle of his cheek that hadn't been there the first time he'd seen him.

Sighing, Dwight folded his arms, pacing in a small circle beside Daryl's chair.

"Y'see what you've started now? We shouldn't be talkin' about this here."

" _Tell him, Dwight._ " Sherry urged, as though she was nearing the end of her tether, holding a needle and thread up to her face as she carefully pulled the black cotton through the eye. "Maybe he could tell his people an-"

"His people don't give a shit about us!" Dwight argued, and Daryl looked between them like he was watching a game of tennis. "If they did before, they certainly don't now!"

"Just tell me." Daryl said wearily, leaning down far enough to be able to rub his temple with his cuffed hand.

"After we left you, Negan's men caught up with us and brought us back here." Dwight explained reluctantly, chewing anxiously on his thumbnail and his voice hushed. "As you've probably figured out by now, Negan likes to punish people who don't fall in line with his plans. For my "betrayal", he held an old metal iron over a fire for a good fifteen minutes, and introduced it to my face."

"Shit." Daryl said flatly, raising his eyebrows. As punishments went, it was _creative_ to say the least.

"If you leave, they come after you." Sherry said, her eyes glassing over momentarily. "All we wanted was to be together." She poised the needle to push it into Daryl's skin, but not before warning him first. "I'm gonna start stitching now."

Daryl nodded and braced himself for it, but that didn't stop him from groaning loudly when it pierced his flesh.

"All we wanted was to be together." Sherry repeated, shaking her head a little. "We can't do that here."

"What do you mean?" Daryl asked, surprised at himself for actually listening to the story with a relatively open mind. With Dwight, he couldn't see past the fact that he killed Denise and tried to do the same to him, to find any kind of goodness in him. Sherry on the other hand, was easy to read. She was a frightened, vulnerable person, just trying to survive. If she was lying, she was damn good at it.

Dwight and Sherry shared a look.

"Well, Christ. You might as well tell the whole story, now." Dwight rolled his eyes and put his hands up, exasperated by his wife's inability to keep a thought in her head. "Go 'head. Tell 'em."

"Dwight and I have been married since before all this happened. We thought Sanctuary was a place that we would be safe. Negan took us in, gave us food and security - he said all he wanted in return was for us to work for him." She frowned in concentration, finishing another stitch. "We thought that would be things like supply runs, tending to the crops, looking after the injured in the infirmary, you know?"

Daryl nodded and waited for her to continue.

"Well, that's how it started. Then when Negan found out about the other groups in the area it escalated to looting, murder and _worse_."

"I don't understand though, you're here together. What do you mean, you _can't_?"

"All of the women here, they 'belong' to Negan, now." Dwight said, barely hidden resentment in his voice. "She ain't my wife no more. She's his."

"What?" Daryl's nose wrinkled. "Are you both shittin' me, now? That's ridiculous."

"This is Negan's empire." Sherry said firmly, closing another stitch. "We only live in it because he _lets_ us live in it. Same goes for you and your people, same goes for Hilltop. The women are kept safe, as long as we do what he wants."

"He's got enough people into his way of thinkin' that you can't fight against it. Even all the groups and any dissenters together from here together would struggle to match it. Standing up to Negan is going to take an army. A _war_."

"So what, our only option is takin' Negan's dick up our asses and sayin' thanks?" Daryl asked crudely. "No fuckin' way."

"You say that like you have some kind of choice." Sherry said ruefully, tying a tight knot in the thread and clipping the ends, the gaping hole transformed into a neatly stitched scar. She tugged at Daryl's shirt. "You're gonna have to move this and lean forwards so I can take care of the back."

In visible discomfort, Daryl removed his arm from his shirt and did as he was asked, resting his elbow on his knee while Sherry busied herself preparing yet more alcohol to clean the much larger exit wound that sat just beside his shoulderblade.

"Good lord!" She gasped at the sight of the old but angry looking scars that covered Daryl's back, though she quickly covered it. "This is a real doozie - You might wanna hold on tight for this one."

Daryl nodded but he wasn't quite expecting the intensity of the pain when the liquid made contact with the wound. He let out a pained cry, quickly muffling the sound with his hand.

"Holy shit!" He groaned, his muscles seizing sharply. His vision swayed a little, the pain almost enough to make him want to black out for a moment or two.

"You'll be alright." Dwight said, echoing the words Daryl heard just after he'd been shot.

"Fuck you." He snarled, teeth gritted.

"So anyway," Sherry spoke up, breaking the tension again and again opting to distract Daryl from wanting to murder her husband. "What happened to your friend. Dwight was out there with the objective of bringing some of your people in. Negan has known about your place for a good long while."

"How long?" Daryl asked.

"Month or so. Maybe more." Dwight shrugged. "Point is, I know you ain't gonna believe me, but I really wasn't aiming for your friend. I knew you were the biggest danger standing there - I figured if I took you down, it would be easier for us to take you all in. I fucked up..."

"And?" Sherry urged.

"And I'm sorry." Dwight said, and Daryl could barely believe his ears.

"You're _sorry_?" He asked incredulously. "Denise was our only fucking doctor, you asshole. She was my _friend_! You think you're gon' apologise and it'll all be alright?"

"I was just trying to follow orders. I was trying to keep me and my family safe, same as you." Dwight tried to reason. "Negan ain't like your guy Rick. If he doesn't get what he wants, he won't hurt you - he'll hurt everyone you care about instead."

"Yeah well, Nazis were just followin' orders." Daryl grunted, so focussed on giving Dwight as much shit as humanly possible that the pain of Sherry's stitches had dulled, just slightly. Enough to make it a little more bearable. "Look, I don't know why you're tellin' me all this. I can't do shit about it. I tried to help you before and all that did was get people killed."

Dwight sighed, and crouched down on the floor in front of Daryl, gun still in hand.

"Because I think I can help put all this right. Help take care of Negan for good. What you tried to do for us, I know you're a good guy and you can be trusted not to go snitching back to Negan to save your own ass. I also know that right now you probably want him just as dead as I do."

"Well. That's somethin' we got in common." Daryl agreed reluctantly. "But if he's got the numbers you say he does, what exactly are you plannin'?"

"Playin' the long game." Dwight said, "Numbers don't mean shit if you know every move someone's gonna make before they even make 'em."

"Go on." Daryl squinted at Dwight, his interest piqued but trying to still gauge whether the man was trying to bullshit him.

"So, what I'm thinking is-"

He was interrupted by the door to the outhouse swinging open, a shaven-headed man in dark jeans and a leather waistcoat stumbled in, leaning against the frame heavily and already clearly intoxicated.

"Yo, Dwight. Negan says there's a bourbon with your name on it and to hurry your ass up." He slurred, pointing towards him. "He says you did good."

"Thanks, buddy. I'll be right there." Dwight rose to his feet, cuffing Daryl around the side of the head. "Just makin' sure this one don't do nothin' stupid."

"Right on, man." The Savior offered him a thumbs up and turned to stagger away, slamming the door closed behind him.

"M'gonna fuckin' kill you." Daryl growled, peering up at him through damp tendrils of hair.

"I'm keepin' up appearances, dumbass." Dwight bit back, returning to his crouching position. "Anyway, as I was sayin'. Me and you, we could figure out some way to meet. Maybe a supply run or somethin' like that. I can pass on what I know about Negan and what he's planning - and he _is_ planning. None of this stuff happens on a whim, y'know? - and you guys can be pretty organised when you want to be, so you can figure out the rest."

Daryl almost laugh, the idea sounding so ridiculous. Shaking his head, he lifted an eyebrow.

"This is a fuckin' set up, man. Why, after all this, would I ever trust you? We'd be walkin' right into a trap the first time out." He said cynically, grimacing at the sensation of another stitch.

"You wanna know why you should trust me? Because I have to sleep alone every night while my _wife_ is locked up in that place over there with _him_ , doin' God knows what." Dwight tilted his head, and the fury in his voice sounded genuine to Daryl's ears, but he'd been burned by that before. "On what planet would I _not_ want his head on a platter?"

Sighing, Daryl shook his head. What Dwight did was heinous, even if it was an accident like he said it was, he couldn't forget the way he cracked jokes about it, gloating over Denise's body like he'd just shot a deer rather than a kind soul like her.

"He's telling the truth." Sherry said, lifting her gaze for just a moment. "We want out, and we want to stay out. We can't do that as long as Negan is in charge."

"The way I look at it is this, it's a win-win situation. We get the fuck outta here, you and your people aren't getting their brains smashed in and everyone gets to keep one hundred percent of their shit from then on." Dwight shrugged, studiously glancing towards the door in case anyone else decided to drop by. "Look, I'll give you some information right now for nothin'. Show of good faith an' all. If the exchange goes smooth, you go back to your people and you do some digging. If you find out I was right? Meet me. You'll have to play nice with Negan for a while, but if this works out it won't be for long."

"Right." Daryl said flatly. "So what is this 'free information'?"

"You've been on Negan's radar for longer than you know. He's had eyes on all of you for weeks, figuring out the best way to ride in there and take his cut - that was until a little bird came and told him all about your little plot alongside Hilltop."

"Little bird?" His eyes widened. "...Jesus?!" Daryl gaped, surprised at the slight sting of betrayal the idea of Jesus running to tell tales to Negan brought on.  
"Jesus?!" Dwight echoed with a slight scoff. "God, no. That guy ain't a turncoat. No, no. This little bird goes by the name of Gregory. You've met that smug asshole, right?"

Daryl nodded, secretly and quite inexplicably relieved that his first guess was wrong. The fact that Gregory was a lying prick? Not a surprise in the least.

"Everything you were planning. The compound raid - nicely done, by the way - the big talk about taking Negan out of the picture, well that just sped everything up. They were preparing that ambush last night, knowing that a group of you would all be out on the road heading to Hilltop some time in the near future. That group out there were holed up in some buildings nearby and just waited for the word to come through that you were on the way. All they needed to do after that was take up positions and block off your routes. Military planning, but what do you expect from a fuckin' army?"

"And absolutely none of that explains why you took the rest of us." Daryl shook his head, shooting a glare in Dwight's direction.

"I told you. Keeping up appearances." He explained. "I was out there with the others - what could I have done, let you go with a pat on the head? The mission was to take as many of your group as possible, and I had to stick to that or they'd all know something was up. This whole plan falls apart if you don't got an inside man."

"You fuckin' _shot me_!" Daryl cried, banging his fist on the chair in anger.

"Believe it or not, I was doin' you a favour." He pointed at Daryl and rose to his feet, his knee joints cracking noisily as he did. "I knew what was about to go down. Whoever ended up out there, how many of you there were, someone was gonna meet that bat of his regardless, and I also knew that if you were at a hundred percent, you'd try and intervene."

"You're damn right I'd intervene. That bastard murdered one of my family!" He snapped, straining a little against the cuffs as Sherry attempted to hold him still.

"And he would have cut you down before you had any chance of makin' a blind bit of difference." Dwight noted. "For this plan to work, I needed you _alive_. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have aimed for your shoulder now, would I? Plus, it doesn't really make Negan look like such a bigshot, beating down someone who already looks like a walkin' corpse."

"Gee. Thanks." Daryl deadpanned, shaking his head. Because he really needed to know that his injury ended up increasing Glenn's chance of being killed. "Did me a real solid there, Dwight."

"There." Sherry piped up, patting the dressing over her neat little stitches. "All done." She looked up at Dwight and cocked her head towards the door. "We should get back. They'll get suspicious if we take too long." She reached into her bag and retrieved a blanket and a small cushion - Negan had told her to ensure their captive wouldn't be _too_ comfortable - and placed it in the corner of the room where Daryl had been sitting earlier along with some water and two painkillers - weak ones, at Negan's request. "Oh, and there's these.." She said hesitantly, pulling out a large grey sweatshirt and track pants. "They're for the.. prisoners. Said he wanted you wearing 'em."

"The hell I will!" Daryl barked, rubbing his wrist. "You fuckin' kiddin' me?!"

"Look, I can't force you in 'em, I'll just leave 'em here." She frowned, placing the clothes on the floor before adding as a warning. "If you don't have 'em on next time he sees you though, he ain't above forcing you to do what he wants."

"Alright. I'm takin' these off. Trust me, there's no gettin' out of here - and it'd be dumb to try. Least for now." He nodded, leaning down and unfastening Daryl's cuffs. "Look into Gregory. If I'm right, When you get out, I'll get a message to you about a meet. If you don't show, I'll understand." He led Daryl back to pipe where he'd been chained up previously, letting him sit before tying him down again. "Just don't do anythin' stupid, alright? Just wait it out and let the handover go off without a hitch."

"Maybe." Daryl grumbled, not willing to commit to more.

"Then maybe I'll see you around." Dwight nodded, and left along with his wife.

Sighing, Daryl rubbed his face tiredly, spending a good few moments glaring at the dull looking outfit he'd been left. As much as he didn't like it, the idea of wearing something that wasn't drenched in blood and dirt was actually quite appealing. Carefully, he peeled himself out of the filthy clothes he was wearing and pulled on the outfit. He didn't know who the hell they were made for but they hung awkwardly off his frame like they were made for someone far broader than he was.

Sluggishly, he slid back down the wall. He hadn't been looking forward to spending the next seven days with his own thoughts as it was and that was before Dwight came along with his surprising offer. He had no real reason to trust the guy, especially considering the last time he did, it jumped up and bit him on the ass several times over, but there was something about Sherry that gave him enough pause to at least consider it enough to discuss it with the others should he make it back home. Either she was an Oscar winning actress before the world went to shit or she there was an element of truth to their story. Daryl wasn't surprised at the news of Negan's "wives" at all. The guy obviously thought a lot of himself and he definitely wasn't good at sharing, that much was obvious. He thought the Governor would be as bad as it got, but he was realising now that there was always someone, somewhere waiting to fill that power vacuum and each one was going to be more ruthless than the last. Sometimes it would be someone with good intentions like Rick, but most of the time it was going to be a Governor, or a Negan. He had to honestly wonder whether it was even worth continuing to fight on when the cycle was just going to repeat itself endlessly. The light at the end of the tunnel suddenly seemed awfully far away, and whilst he sometimes relished his relatively new found place and purpose in the world, he was beginning to think the only way he'd ever see true peace was the day they put his ass in the ground.

His head spinning, he awkwardly pulled the blanket that Sherry had left him over himself and tucked the cushion behind his head before taking the two pills, deciding to try and sleep rather than go through everything over and over again. There was only so many times he could list all the things he did wrong before it would drive him nuts. If he didn't crack by the time he got back to Alexandria, he thought it would be nothing short of a miracle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remaining Alexandrians arrive at Hilltop, and Abraham has a plan.

Jesus had managed to get a grand total of two hours sleep when he heard the commotion coming from outside Hilltop. Blearily, he grabbed his boots, shoved his beanie over his head and raced to the yard, thinking that maybe they'd had a walker break in or something equally banal - because in the grand scheme of things, the walkers pretty low down on the list of risks these days. That idea quickly disappeared however, when he found one of the residents on the watch tower clambering down to drag open the heavy metal gates. His eyes widened when he saw the group from Alexandria stumbling in, carrying in a stretcher and each one of them looking like they had stared into an abyss.

"What the hell...?" He mumbled before jogging over to see what assistance he could provide. He quickly realised that Maggie was the one on the stretcher, face shining with sweat and mumbling deliriously to herself. He called for Harlan over his shoulder and looked to Rick for answers, but the man's glassy stare went right through him. The lights were on, but it didn't look like anybody was home right then. He caught Abraham's eye, and nodded towards the house.

"Bring her to the infirmary, Harlan will be able to help."

The large army man nodded, and the brigade complied. He supervised the gate being closed back up and silently took note of who had arrived, and who hadn't. Of those that he knew, Glenn wasn't accompanying his sick wife, and Daryl simply _wasn't there_. He reasoned that maybe they were otherwise engaged, or remained at Alexandria but an uncomfortable knot was settling in his stomach as he ran to catch up with Rosita and Sasha, who were tailing silently behind the crew with the stretcher.

"Hey, hold up a second.." He called out, and Rosita stopped whilst the Sasha continued to follow everyone else. "What happened out there?"

"Negan's men caught Michonne, Glenn, Daryl and me. The rest of 'em were out trying to get Maggie to your doctor when they caught up with them, too."

"Oh, shit." He breathed out. He'd seen everyone come in except Glenn and Daryl, and that little knot only became tighter.

"They had us surrounded, brought us to this clearing out in the woods. That's when Negan turned up." She continued, seemingly wanting to get out what she'd seen if only to make sense of it for herself. "He - He had this bat, told us that one of us was going to get beaten.." She paused for a moment to gather herself. "He chose Glenn."

Jesus' shoulders sagged. He knew all about that bat. He'd seen it come down on the head of that poor kid just a short time earlier. He didn't need to be told that Glenn didn't make it, it was already written all over her face, and everyone elses. Rosita sniffed and chewed on her bottom lip, hastily wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"I'm so sorry." He consoled, putting a hand on her shoulder sympathetically. Another question was on the tip of his tongue and he asked hesitantly, fearful of what the answer would be. "What about Daryl?"

"They took him." She said, swallowing thickly. "Said it was to make sure we give 'em what they want."

Momentarily, Jesus felt overwhelmed with guilt. He'd encouraged the Alexandrians into the deal to take down Negan, and whilst Daryl in particular was all too eager to agree, he couldn't help but feel like some of that blood was on his hands. His brain conveniently reminded him of his own words, that Negan wasn't the type to keep hostages - but he had to hope for the sake of that group that he was willing to keep to his side of the deal that he'd forced them to make.

"Look, I'm sorry I kept you. I'll take you to the others, see if there's anything I can do." He said with a small half-smile, ushering her inside and heading for the infirmary, where everyone except Maggie and Michonne were hovering outside the door, eager to ensure that their sick friend was being taken care of, but also clearly not wanting to crowd the doctor.

"Here," Jesus spoke up, and several gaunt faces turned back to look at him. He gestured to a room just to the left of him, near enough if they were needed but also a place where they could sit - something that they all looked like they needed right then. "Come sit down - Harlan will keep you updated, I promise."

The crowd all hesitated, looking towards each other and then Rick as though they were waiting for him to approve, but no response came. He was still staring somewhere into the middle distance and was clearly in no fit state to direct anyone. Eventually, Abraham nodded and stepped away from the group, heading into the room with the rest following quietly behind.

"Can I get anybody anything?" Jesus asked, feeling extremely awkward in the deathly silence.

"Y'got any Scotch?" Abraham asked gruffly.

"I'll see what I can do.." Jesus nodded.

"And some water. Please." Michonne looked over, urging Rick to sit down on one of the dark red couches that filled the floor. Jesus gave a second nod and disappeared out of the room feeling like he was intruding on a private moment of grief that he had no business being a part of. He was heading for the kitchen when Gregory appeared at the top of the stairs.

"What on earth is going on?!"

Jesus turned slowly on his heel, not at all surprised that it was only now that Gregory had bothered to come down to find out what was going on.

"Maggie's sick. A group from Alexandria were headed up here so Harlan could check up on her and Negan caught them out there." He said with a frown.

"Good God." Gregory blustered, rushing down the stairs. "What happened?"

"One dead, one captured. Rest of 'em are here and in a real mess."

"Is- Is there anything I can do?" He asked, voice full of concern.

"Stay out of the room next to the infirmary." Jesus warned. "I don't think they want to be bothered right now."

"Hm." He nodded in agreement. "Well, if that'll be all - I'm going back to bed."

"Yeah," Jesus muttered under his breath as he turned away and Gregory returned to the safety of his room. "You do that."

Finally making it to the kitchen, Jesus yawned and shuffled into the pantry, boots scuffing the floor with his lazy footsteps. The unpleasant memory of what Negan did to one of Hilltop's own reared it's ugly head and he shook it away, opting to concentrate on the things he could do something about. He gathered a bundle of water bottles and placed them on the counter before heading back in to retrieve one of the bottles of Whiskey that sat behind several bags of rice on the shelves. Sure, Gregory was bound to bitch about it, but the group's need was greater and the man himself was doing absolutely nothing to help.

"Jesus!"

A booming voice behind him made him jump, and he emerged from the pantry to find Abraham looming just outside of the doorway. He was a big guy, but apparently could be as quiet as a mouse when he wanted to be, and Jesus hadn't heard him coming.

"Abraham." Jesus nodded solemnly, doing a mighty good job of disguising his fright. "What can I do for you?"

"You know where their base is, right?" He asked, cracking his knuckles.

"I only thought they had the one. Now I'm pretty sure there's at least three. Why?" He asked cautiously, sensing that Abraham had already got an idea in his head and genuinely taken aback that the man was already plotting vengeance, seeing as they'd only been there for all of twenty minutes. Still, after seeing what Abraham and the others had seen, he couldn't blame him for wanting to keep busy. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinkin' it's senseless for all of us to stay here with our thumbs wedged firmly up our asses when one of our own is a prisoner of war." He explained, hands on his hips and rocking slightly on his heels.

"You don't think Negan will keep his end of the bargain?" Jesus asked, offering Abraham the bottle in his hands.

"Nope. Do you?" He took it and several of the water bottles from the counter.

Jesus chewed his lip for a moment and thought about it.

"Well, I know that he doesn't tend to keep hostages for long, and that isn't usually because he let them go." He said, because he didn't see the point in lying just to make Abraham feel better.

Abraham hummed thoughtfully. "I'm not suggestin' we go in there, all guns blazing but do you feel like doing a scouting mission when the sun's up?" He asked, looking out of the window as though he was trying to figure out exactly how long he'd have to sit around with his thumb up his ass. "I'd go to Rick but as you've probably noticed, he ain't up to doin' all that much right now. Negan gave us half our weapons back, I should think that's all we'll need."

Jesus was hesitant to agree, but at the same time he didn't trust Negan enough to let Daryl go - not even on the promise of more than half of their supplies.

"Alright." He sighed. "We've got some weapons from Alexandria we exchanged for food last week. Add that to what you've got and we should be set. Just remember, this is a _scouting mission_. If we go in there half assed and attempt a rescue, we're just going to get him, and us, killed."

"Understood." Abraham nodded, cocking his head towards the door. "Let's get these to the others."

Sighing, Jesus collected the remained of the bottles and followed.

* * *

It was mid-morning, and Dwight had the mother of all hangovers. Sitting on the steps of the main building at Negan's Sanctuary, he nursed a cup of gritty, instant coffee and took a long drag of a crooked, hastily rolled joint, which was one of the few perks of joining the Saviors. It did, at least, make the whole situation marginally less stressful. There was footsteps and the creak of leather and he turned slowly over his shoulder to find Negan, looming over him in the doorway and looking as intimidating as ever. Physically, he wasn't the biggest man, but there was something about him that made people follow him like sheep. When Dwight and Sherry had found Sanctuary, it was a lot smaller, a tighter knit group, but Negan charmed people out on the road, usually people he deemed useful, with his patter about building a strong community, working together to build something great. For the most part, it worked. As time went on, the recruits became rougher, more morally grey and Negan's power over them came less from the sparkling wit and roguish grin and more from the brutal and swift punishment of anyone who dared to start stepping out of line. Not that many did, most just happy to be fed, watered and allowed to steal and murder to their heart's content - provided they shared the spoils. Dwight didn't much like many of them but he tolerated them. Played along. Not for his sake but for Sherry. Despite the many conditions of their residency, having the Savior's protection and not having to worry about where they would find food or safety was enough to keep them there. Or at least, it used to be.

"Beautiful mornin' ain't it?" Negan said cheerfully, stepping out and stretching his arms before pulling out a pack of Morley's from his inside pocket. "You did good, Dwight." He grinned, cigarette balanced between his teeth while he found a lighter. "I wasn't expectin' to have half that many of those assholes out there last night. Shittin' their fuckin' pants. It was beautiful."

"Heh, yeah." Dwight agreed, having perfected the role of an unquestioning lackey. "Sure put that Rick in his place, huh?"

"The arrogance of that prick." Negan chortled, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Trying to take my boys down in their sleep? That's fuckin' lower than a snake's asshole."

Dwight huffed out a laugh and had another toke.

"You've run into this Daryl before, right?" Negan asked, gesturing to the building that contained their prisoner. "Know much about him?"

"Good at trackin', I guess. Ain't bad at fightin' or shootin' either." Dwight answered honestly, knowing that his level of usefulness was potentially the only thing that was going to prolong his life. "Complete asshole." He added, maintaining the pretence of his total dislike.

"Eh. Who isn't these days?" Negan asked with a smirk.

"Why, you gonna recruit him?" Dwight asked, stubbing out the joint on the step.

"I haven't decided yet."

"It'll take a lot to talk him round." He advised, nodding towards the prison. "He's close with the others at Alexandria. Gives a shit about 'em."

"That can be fixed." Negan said, a wicked grin stretching the corners of his mouth. "That can always be fixed. Now if you've finished smoking my product, don't you have some work to do?"

"Yes. Uh, yeah." Dwight stood up hastily, looking forward to the day when he could tell Negan and his chores to fuck right off. "Right on it, boss." He nodded submissively and retreated back inside to find out what shitty job he had to do. Cleaning up shitty bathrooms after a ten hour drinking marathon? That sounded about right.

* * *

 

"Are you completely out of your _minds_?"

"Michonne.."

"No, Abe." Michonne scowled, folding her arms and pointing at the map laid out on the kitchen table. "It's been a matter of _hours_. We need to stay together. If you get caught out there and Negan thinks we're working on some kind of plot.."

"Look, Maggie's stable for now, we ain't doin' no good sittin' around here. Negan ain't gonna let Daryl live - even Jesus agrees with me." Abe said, gesturing at Jesus, who was sat at the table, sipping coffee and trying not to get involved in the argument.

"I said it's unlikely." Jesus pointed out.

"Look, I don't mean to speak outta turn here but your man through there ain't right at the minute." Abe's voice lowered, but still somehow kept it's authoritative resonance. "Sure, right now I'd say he's as mad as a box'a rabid squirrels - and that ain't gonna be wearin' off any time in the next coupl'a hours. When he comes back, I will follow whatever orders he's got. In the meantime, I think me an' Jesus should just go scout the area. Sooner the better. We can figure out the points to attack..."

"Attack? Jesus, Abe - does anyone here look like they're fit to attack anyone right now?"

"Maybe not - but sometime soon, they're gonna have to. What Negan did was an act of _war_. D'you really want to just sit back and let him take half of everythin' we've all worked for? Do you think everyone's just gonna let this asshole run roughshod indefinitely? You saw his numbers - if we ain't got even the start of a plan, we ain't got anything."

Michonne sighed and shook her head, she knew Abe wouldn't be talked round and it showed all over her face.

"If you're in need of a second pair of hands, I'd like to come with." Eugene appeared behind Michonne, eating a cracker. "If nothin' else I'd quite like the fresh air."

"Aw, Eugene. I don't know-" Abe groaned.

" _Please_." He said pleadingly, a small frown on his bruised face. Apparently, Abe couldn't say no to that, and nodded once.

"Fine." He huffed.

"Anything I can do to help." He nodded at both Abe and Jesus, and Jesus could see guilt in his eyes. He turned around and left the room again as abruptly as he came in.

"Alright, well, I can see I'm not gonna be able to talk anyone out of this-" Michonne began.

"Nope." Abraham interrupted.

"Let me finish. Dick." Michonne scolded him and slapped at his arm. "Don't take longer than you need to. I'll tell Rick you're out for emergency supplies for now - he doesn't need the stress. Don't make us come looking for you. And you-" She pointed at Jesus. "Don't let him talk you into doing anything stupid."

"I won't." Jesus grinned, and returned his attention back to the map when she left. "So. Here's the base we raided. There's an old military installation of some kind further over here, a couple of warehouses here.." He moved his finger over several points. "After that, we're in unknown territory. If I had to guess, there's probably going to be something else along this path here - side road, less likely to be clogged up with cars unlike the two main roads and plenty of wood cover in this area - but that's all it is. A guess."

"Well, if we can at least find it, that's a start."

Jesus shrugged his shoulders slightly. This was probably a terrible idea, and there was every chance they'd encounter Saviors left, right and centre, but at the same time the thought of leaving Daryl to the wolves wasn't much of one either as far as he was concerned.

"I'm thinking we set off in the next hour." Abe looked out of the window, collecting his own coffee from the counter and slurping it noisily, slapping his lips at the taste. "It's been a while since I had a decent cuppa joe. Should'a come found us sooner, seein' as you've all been hoardin' the good stuff. Y'know what coffee we got at Alexandria? _Folgers_." He grimaced, taking another drink to wash the imaginary taste out of his mouth. "Disgustin'."

"I'll make a flask." Jesus chuckled, standing up and setting about preparing another pot on the stove.

"Best idea you've had in the last ten minutes."

"Abe.. are you sure you want to do this now?" Jesus asked, emptying grounds into the stove-top coffee maker. "I mean, we could wait and see if they stick to their word."

"Naw." Abe shook his head. "I don't think we should risk anyone havin' to see what we saw happen all over again, do you?"

A wet, cracking sound rang in Jesus' ears and his fist clenched at the memory. _He_ didn't want to see that happen again, let alone anyone else and certainly not to Daryl. Him and Rick were the only reason he hadn't been left unconscious in a field for the dead to have a munch on, so he felt like he owed both of them one, really. If there was a chance he could help get Daryl out alive, he had to take it.

"No. You're right." He said with a nod, seeming more confident of his decision. "Let's get out there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments and everything, folks. I appreciate it a lot! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan pays Daryl a visit, and Eugene, Abe and Jesus bond over a game of cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this took! Thanks for the comments and kudos, I really appreciate it! It should be known that I know very little about Poker, so I'm sorry about any mistakes that might pop up in this chapter, lol!

“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”  
  
Daryl grunted and shifted where he sat, turning his head and shielding himself from the request with the blanket draped over him. Usually, he'd be on his feet and ready to fight at a moment's notice when someone woke him from the rare occasions he slept for more than a few hours at a time, but this morning he felt understandably sluggish, the sting in his shoulder replaced with a dull ache that seemed to pull at the entire side of his chest. His throat felt like it had been sandpapered and a loud, hacking cough burst out of him.  
  
Negan, becoming impatient, tapped the wall with Lucille just above Daryl's head.  
  
“I _said_ wake your ass up. _Now_.”  
  
Slowly, Daryl's eyes finally opened and he started when he realised that Negan was looming over him, bat in hand.  
  
“Wow. Maybe they should'a picked you. You look like _shit_.” He chuckled, shoving at Daryl's shoulder and inspecting his face closely. “Your buddy Rick was kinda quick to throw you under the bus, huh?”  
  
“What do you want?” Daryl asked tetchily, in no mood for Negan's shit when his limbs felt like lead and the rest of him on the verge of the shittiest flu he'd ever had.  
  
“What I want is for you to start talking to me with a little fuckin' respect, little man.” He replied condescendingly. “I'm sure you and Rick got real used to bein' King Shit around here, but I think you should have figured out by now that isn't the case any more. You're not even King Shit's third fuckin' cousin my friend, and the sooner you get used to it the better.”  
  
Daryl said nothing, and fixed Negan with an impassive glare.  
  
“I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that.” Negan smirked, lifting Lucille and driving the head of the bat into the wall just inches away from Daryl's head. “Did you say, ' _Yes, Sir_ '?”  
  
Silence.  
  
Without another word, Negan inched forward, pulled Lucille back and shoved the handle into Daryl's chest, aimed to land squarely against his stitches. Despite the gritted teeth, Daryl groaned and attempted to squirm away, only to find himself pinned.  
  
“Try again, fuckhead.” Negan's voice lowered, all traces of humour long gone. He twisted the bat and a deep burn started to spread outwards from the wound.  
  
“ _Fuck... you_.” Daryl managed to spit out, knowing full well that the rational, sensible option would be just to let Negan hear what he wanted to hear, but the little rebellious voice in his head that sounded a hell of a lot like his brother spurred him on, even if it was going to be to his detriment.  Enraged, Negan dragged him to his feet by his hair and rammed the handle again, this time into his stomach before letting Daryl drop bonelessly to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.  
  
“Oh, man. I'm gonna have some fun breaking you.” He grinned, stomping his boot into Daryl's ribs, the cracking sound satisfying to his ears. “I've just gotta figure out the best way to do it.”  
  
Slowly, still coughing violently, Daryl dragged himself up into a sitting position, an arm wrapped protectively around his middle. Something was _definitely_ broken, each inward breath suddenly proving difficult, reducing his breath to a quick, steady pant. Negan paced the floor, contemplating his own question.  
  
“I mean, we could do this the easy way. We put you to work and if you're lucky, one day you could be a prospect. Hell, from what I've heard you might even be fuckin' useful one day.” His steps paused and he rubbed the grey stubble on the side of his face. “On the other hand, there's always the hard way. You know, I've got some boys back there who'd have a real good time with you, if I let 'em.”  
  
Despite his best efforts, Daryl must have given something away with his body language, because Negan started laughing again.  
  
“Oh, now ain't that the darndest thing?” Negan said, crouching on the floor next to Daryl. “I mean, I can't say I blame you. I tell you, these boys would tear you in _half_. I can't say I really approve, but eh, perks of the job for them, I guess. Maybe I'll just go 'head and call them over-” He pondered, rising to his feet.  
  
“Don't.” Daryl finally uttered with a loud wheeze.  
  
“Well, that depends. Are you gonna start playing along?”  
  
“Y-” He coughed suddenly, a burning pain searing his chest.  
  
“What?” Negan insisted. “Last chance before they turn you into their own personal fuckin' chew toy.”  
  
“Yessir.” Daryl choked out quickly, because the alternative to saying it didn't bear thinking about.  
  
“Good boy.” Negan grinned, turning on his heel and heading for the door. “Sherry will be around later with some food – when I feel like letting her. You might want to spend some time thinking about whether you wanna go home in one piece or several” He suggested, before adding ominously; “If you make it that far.”  
  
When the door was closed, Daryl let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding and moaned at the pain that now stopped him from sucking in a proper lungful of air. The way things were starting to pan out, he wasn't so sure that he'd ever make it back to Alexandria or if he did, how useful what was left of him would be to his friends.

 

* * *

  
  
  
By the time Eugene, Abraham and Jesus were about a mile out from the first compound the Alexandrians had raided, aided and abetted by their new associates at Hilltop, the light was starting to fade fast and Jesus finally decided to urge Abraham to start looking for somewhere to hole up for the night.  
  
“We've got plenty of light left. It'll be fine.” Abraham shrugged, clearly not keen on stopping just yet.  
  
“D'you wanna clear out a building in the dark? Because I sure as shit don't.” Jesus turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “There's gotta be a few places nearby.”  
  
“Jesus is right.” Eugene finally leaned forward and chipped in, surprising Jesus considering he'd looked asleep only a few minutes before. “I know you don't like sittin' on your hands but we've got a better shot at makin' it if we set back out at the buttcrack of dawn.”  
  
“ _Fine_.” Abe sighed and rolled his eyes petulantly. “If it means both of y'all will stop naggin' my ass.”  
  
“It's for the best.” Jesus offered by way of consolation.  
  
“Yeah, yeah..”  
  
A couple of miles past the first compound, they found a large farmhouse with a barn conveniently placed to hide the car if anyone came by. The house itself was home to two emaciated looking walkers, presumably the people who used to own the place – but they were quickly put down. It wasn't that walkers were no longer a threat, but with people like Negan around they seemed to pale in comparison as far as danger was concerneda. They set up for the night in the large living room, which was surprisingly well preserved considering the vultures that lived nearby.  
  
Abraham dropped heavily onto the couch and stretched, his joints popping whilst he grumbled with relief from being couped up in a cramped truck for the best part of the day. The shutters closed and the curtains shut, they felt safe enough to light a small lantern on the coffee table and at Abe's request, Jesus brewed up enough coffee for all of them on a small camping stove. Seemingly out of nowhere, Eugene produced a pack of cards.  
  
“Where in the hell were you keepin' those?” Abe asked, clearly amused.  
  
“I have many pockets.” Eugene noted, pointing to his utility waistcoat.  
  
“Better get some Scotch in that coffee, Jesus. We might be here a while.” Abe declared, glad that he at least had _something_ to do rather than sit around brooding about the previous night's events.  
  
Jesus, being relatively sensible, knew that the better option would be to try and catch a couple of hours sleep but he had never been able to resist a game of poker. He was damn good at it, too – made a fair stack of cash on it over the years, only trouble was that he couldn't pull himself away from a table even when he had a losing streak a mile long. One of the few upsides of the end of the world was that he didn't have anyone chasing him for everything he owned any more – at least, not until Negan showed up.  
  
Eugene deftly shuffled and dealt the cards like a well practised professional, and Jesus was impressed.  
  
“Do you play, Eugene?” He asked, sipping at his coffee which was now half whiskey, thanks to Abraham's generous measures. He shuddered slightly, and Abraham laughed at him.  
  
“I like to do card tricks.” He said, in the same matter of fact tone he answered every question. “I thought it might impress the ladies. That was not the case.”  
  
Jesus and Abe both chuckled.  
  
“It impresses _some_ ladies.” Abe pointed out with a nod. “You just haven't had the good luck to meet 'em yet.”  
  
“I'll need more than luck these days.” Eugene said ruefully. “My options are significantly reduced.”  
  
“Ey. If I can get lucky then anyone can.” Abe advised sagely. “Twice, no less.”  
  
Eugene shrugged, and Jesus suddenly spotted a small jar of coins on a shelf above the fireplace.  
  
“We got a pot!” He declared, standing up to grab it and emptying it's contents on the table, sharing them equally between the three of them, then pushing two dimes forwards as his stake. “Living dangerously tonight, boys!” He grinned, watching the two of them studying their hands for any little tell they might subconsciously throw up.  
  
“What about you, Jesus?” Abe looked up. “You got a girl stashed back at your place?”  
  
The question put him off guard and he let out a laugh that was much higher pitched than he'd intended.  
  
“Me? No, not at all.”  
  
“Boyfriend, then?” Abe asked. “Hey, I don't give a shit.”  
  
“No, haven't got one of those, either. Not since everything, you know?” Jesus smiled slightly, feeling safe enough to admit such a thing. He was open and honest about his sexuality but even now, he always felt like he needed to test the water before admitting to anything, for his own protection. “Like Eugene says – the options are limited these days.”  
  
“We've got Aaron and Eric, and then there's Tara and..” He paused, remembering that poor Denise was no longer with them. “Just those three... There's people out there, is what I mean.” Abe reassured him in his own clumsy but well-meaning way. He pushed another two coins out with his stake. “Raise ya.”  
  
“Should have known you were a gambler.” Jesus said with a wry smirk, pushing two more coins into the growing pile. “Raise.” A moment of silence passed whilst Eugene considered his next move until Jesus broke the silence. “What about Daryl?”  
  
“What about him? You sweet on him or somethin'?” Abe chortled, and Jesus shook his head vigorously.  
  
“No, no. Just curious.” He grinned, sipping his drink. “I don't think he's all that keen on me, anyway, not after the whole situation with the truck. He nearly left me up a tree – probably would have if it wasn't for Rick.” Jesus smirked and a deep belly laugh burst out of Abraham, because that sounded just about right. “In fact, I'm pretty sure he still wants to kick my ass a little bit, so I don't know how happy he's gonna be to see me turn up with you two.”  
  
“Somethin' tells me he'll be happy to see anybody. I doubt Negan's gonna be givin' anyone five star treatment.” Abe frowned, shaking his head.  
  
“I thought Daryl and Carol had a thing.” Eugene piped up, pushing some coins forwards. “Raise.”  
  
“Naw.” Abe shook his head. “I thought the same but there ain't nothin' goin' on.”  
  
“Mm. And nobody wants to be part of a rhyming couple.” Jesus joked, studying his hand. Silently, he pushed two more coins forward and grinned, safe in the knowledge that it was likely the other two wouldn't be able to beat his hand.  
  
The game continued another few rounds, until the majority of the coin jar was in the middle of the table. Not one of the men had folded, probably because of the low stakes, and a good-natured tension lingered in the air as it was finally time to reveal their hands.  
  
Eugene went first and presented three of a kind, which led to a sympathetic groan from the other two players. He huffed and shrugged his shoulders slightly.  
  
“Well, prob'ly a good job I didn't spend a lot of time in Vegas before, huh?”  
  
“Did you ever go to Vegas, Eugene?” Jesus asked with a lift of his eyebrow.  
  
“I didn't get all that far outta Houston.” Eugene replied. “S'pose I've done more travellin' in the last eighteen months or so than I ever did before.”  
  
“Every cloud huh, buddy?” Abraham said warmly, before turning his attention back to the game. The subject moving to their travels, the conversation would only turn to their troubles after all. “Okay, let's see. Does a full house do anything for ya?” He asked, spreading his cards out with a slight air of smugness.  
  
“Ooh.” Jesus said, “That's good and all, but I think I'll keep what I've got.”  
  
He placed his cards down to reveal four-of-a-kind and took a celebratory slurp of what was at that point, a cup of neat scotch with the vague hint that it had once contained coffee.  
  
“Son of a _bitch_.”

 

* * *

  
  
Daryl stared at the door for what seemed like hours, wondering if there was even a cat in hell's chance of forcing it open. Negan's visit earlier only served to cement what he'd probably known all along, that Negan probably had very little intention of letting him go, even if his people agreed to comply with his demands. Even if something did happen to him, he wasn't sure Rick would incite a revolt over it, certainly not the vacant looking, scared Rick he'd seen before he was bundled back into the van. He'd been left – wisely, even he had to admit – with very little he could use to improvise any kind of tool that might help him escape. Even if he did, he probably wouldn't get much further before getting caught. Negan had so many people, he'd be lucky to find a blind-spot.  
  
The sound of a key turning in the lock pulled him out of his thoughts and involuntarily, he pressed himself back into the corner where he was sat, drawing his knees to his chest and grunting with discomfort when his ribs protested at the sudden movement. When Sherry poked her head around the door, he sighed with relief.  
  
“Only me.” She said with a small, nervous laugh as she crossed the floor, holding a plate with a haphazardly made sandwich and a bottle of water. “Negan sent me over with these. Some painkillers again, another antibiotic.” She frowned apologetically, “I don't know if these are really strong enough, but it's all there is.”  
  
Daryl was less bothered about that and more by the slimy looking meat that hung over the size of the obviously hand-baked bread that could only really be described as suspicious looking.  
  
“The hell is that?” He asked, gesturing towards the plate, his nose crinkling slightly.  
  
“Negan told me not to tell.” She frowned guiltily.  
  
“C'mon.” He coaxed roughly, “Believe me, I've eaten some weird shit in my time, there's every chance it's not gonna bother me.”  
  
“Dog food.” She sighed, looking down at the sandwich with a repulsed look on her face. “For his pet, he said.”  
  
“Well...” He pulled the plate closer and looked at it grimly, more disturbed by the reasoning than the food itself. “At least it ain't people.”  
  
“Look, he said you gave him some trouble earlier. Can I.. Can I just give you some advice?” She stammered anxiously, fixing Daryl with a wide-eyed stare.  
  
“Y'can give it. Ain't promisin' I'll take it.” Daryl shrugged, gathering up the pills from his plate and washing them down with the water. “Go 'head.”  
  
“It's just... you're stuck here, right? Until he lets you out or some kinda miracle happens in the meantime, you're stuck.” She informed him, matter of fact. “If I were you, I'd just go along with it. Do as you're told.” Daryl sucked in a breath to interrupt but she continued firmly. “ _Listen to me._ I'm telling you this so you make it out of here alive. However bad this is, however bad it gets – He can make it worse. You've seen how far he'll go, and that isn't even the half of it. Please, just trust me on this, okay?”  
  
Daryl looked unhappy about it, but nodded once in agreement, even if every fibre in his being wanted to do the exact opposite – go down fighting instead of becoming Negan's bitch – He also knew that if they had a hope of taking Negan down some day, he had to make it home.  
  
“Look after yourself, Daryl.” Sherry reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder before rising to her feet and dusting off her jeans. “Please.”  
  
He let out of a small grunt of agreement and she left him to his 'dinner'. He picked up the plate and inspected the disgusting looking food before reluctantly tucking in.

 

* * *

  
  
  
Having parked the truck mid-way between the first Saviors' base and what they were guessing was another, Abraham, Eugene and Jesus were trekking through the surrounding woodland, trying to give the compound itself a wide berth so that they could observe it unnoticed, trying to scope out it's vulnerable spots and points of entry. The building they came upon certainly appeared to be a base of some kind, a series of buildings surrounded by wood and wire fences. The dense shrubs they found provided good enough cover to observe from a distance with binoculars, Jesus and Abe taking it in turns whilst Eugene studiously recorded notes in the small pocketbook that he rarely went anywhere without.  
  
“Looks like three gates to me. One for vehicles, two for people on foot. Shitload of security too – of course.” Abe grumbled, lowering the binoculars and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't know how in the hell we're gonna do this. There's easy, triple the numbers we have and that's just in one place.” He turned to Jesus worriedly. “I don't mean to be pessimistic but I think we may be in some deep shit here.”  
  
“We'll figure it out.” Jesus said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We can't match 'em in numbers but we can be smarter. You've seen his people. Do many of them look like geniuses to you?”  
  
“Excuse me? I find that insulting.” A voice piped up from behind the group and all three turned in unison to find Dwight standing over them, Daryl's crossbow slung over his shoulder. All three men immediately pulled their guns and trained them on him. Much to their surprise, Dwight simply raised his hands in surrender. “C'mon boys, put 'em away. We need to talk.”  
  
“ _Talk_?” Jesus hissed. “Why the hell would we want to do that?”  
  
“Because I'm the only hope of getting your friend out of that place before Negan paints the walls with his brains.” He informed them casually, before crouching down to their level. “So, what do you say? Truce?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, Abe and Eugene meet with Dwight and their 'recon mission' turns into something else entirely.

“I don't like this.” Abraham groused, his boots crunching in the leaves with each stomp of his feet. After their encounter with Dwight, and after much persuasion, they agreed to meet about a mile from the compound at a small detached cottage to avoid anyone from the Saviours' base – which they now knew to be called Sanctuary – listening in on the conversation. “Prob'ly walkin' right into a trap.” 

Jesus shook his head, hands shoved in his pockets and a rifle slung over his shoulder. He knew he shouldn't trust Dwight as far as he could comfortably throw him, but there was something about the way he was talking that rang true. He'd always had a talent for reading people, which obviously came in handy during his poker years, and he could spot a liar from a mile away and there was nothing about Dwight's manner that suggested he was. “I think he's telling the truth. He wouldn't be that good at hiding it if he was lying. Like I said before, not a genius.” He said cuttingly, and looked to Eugene who was pensively walking at Abe's other side. “What about you, Eugene?” 

“I'm inclined to agree with you. If he's lyin' he's a real good actor.” He shrugged, looking up as the building loomed in the distance. “Wouldn't hurt to take a look with them binoculars, though. Chances are if he's got back up, we'll see somethin'.” 

“Well, Eugene. I'm startin' to think bringin' you along wasn't such a bad idea after all.” Abe grinned crookedly, gesturing up ahead. “I say we pitch up at that cluster of trees over there and check it out.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Jesus nodded. 

Much to Abe's surprise, the place seemed clear, although there was no way to be one-hundred percent sure, he was more confident that Dwight's unexpected offer was genuine once he'd been reassured of their relative safety, and willing to at least chance it if there was a possibility of being able to get Daryl out of there. As Jesus had suggested, they came at the house from two sides. Jesus found Dwight's bike, hidden under a sheet in a carport bolted to the side of the building and let himself in through the side door. He started slightly when he found Dwight already sat at the kitchen table waiting for him. He immediately spotted Daryl's crossbow propped up against the chair beside him and Jesus bristled at the sight of it, fighting the urge to snatch it back. 

“There ain't anyone hiding in the pantry, don't worry.” Dwight reassured him sarcastically and gestured to the chair opposite him. “Take a seat, why don'tcha?” 

No sooner had he said that, Eugene and Abraham appeared in the doorway from the other room, and Jesus felt safe enough to take a seat, soon followed by the others. 

“So?” Abraham shrugged his shoulders. “Whaddya want?” 

“Daryl and me. We've come to an... arrangement. I'm gonna tell you what I told him, and then I'm gonna tell you what you need to get him out of there, right?” 

Jesus folded his arms, a deeply cynical look on his face. “Go on.” 

“Long story short, me and my wife want out. The only way we can do that is to get rid of Negan, and the only way we get rid of Negan is to pull your groups together and take him down. It'll take a while to put all the pieces in place but I think I can help out with that.” 

“Oh yeah? And how do you propose to do that?” Abe asked, resting his arms on the table and leaning forwards. “Keep in mind if we don't like your answer, there's a pretty good chance you're not walkin' out of here. Not after the shit you pulled.” 

“Look, I know I'm not your favourite person right now, but I've got a feeling that you hate Negan just that little bit more after the other night, am I right?” Dwight raised an eyebrow knowingly, and Abe honestly couldn't argue with him on that point. 

With a deep breath, Dwight explained his basic plan, to take down the Saviors by stealth at first, picking off the numbers on supply runs and the like by keeping the other groups informed of their plans, setting up ambushes and traps until the Saviors' numbers were dwindling enough to at least make it a fair fight.

“It's not gonna take long for Negan to figure out something's going on.” Jesus shook his head, not much impressed with Dwight's apparent half-assed attempt at a mutiny. 

“So you don't target every convoy, you read the itineraries that I pass on to you, and target one or two of them. You send small teams so that it looks like most of you are back at your places, working like good little minions. You make it look like an accident. You let some of 'em live to go back and tell him about how they got swarmed. This plan is reliant on you doing some of the thinkin' too, y'know? You gotta get creative. Come on, you know how I ain't so smart and all.” He glared pointedly at Jesus, who rolled his eyes in response. “By the time he realises that it's a plan and not a case of his lackeys being useless assholes, the numbers are gonna be at least a little more equal. Enough to plan an assault on Sanctuary to finish the job.” 

“And what do you want in return?” Abe asked. 

“I want diplomatic immunity.” He grinned like a man who had heard that phrase on a TV show and thought it made him sound clever... which he was. “I'm not asking to move to Alexandria, or Hilltop, I just want to be able to get myself and my wife as far away from Negan as humanly possible. That's it.” 

“This doesn't explain how we get Daryl out of there, though. We need to do that first.” Eugene said, still scribbling in his notepad. 

“Well, I talked to Negan, tried to find out what I could about what he's plannin' but I'm not so sure he's gonna let him go the first time out. What would be the point? He's not gonna give up his leverage because you gave him what he wanted the one time. He wants to hurt you and your people as much as he can. He want to _break_ you, and right now it's a toss up between killing the guy or forcing him to become one of us – depending on how much trouble Daryl causes him in the meantime.” He sighed. “I told him to keep his head down and toe the line but hey, you know the guy. Y'think that's gonna last? If I had to bet on it, I'd say he'd rather get his head beat in than become a Saviour.” 

“Well, I can't disagree with you there. He'd see it as betrayin' his people and that guy is about as loyal as an old labrador.” Abe nodded before sighing frustratedly. “Shit. So what do we do?” 

“Negan's not an idiot. He's got a ton of lookouts – it's going to be hard as hell to get in there without somebody seeing.” Jesus sighed, annoyed with himself for not being able to come up with any kind of plan, especially now he knew that time was limited. A few moments of silence passed before Dwight finally piped up;

“Hey, can I borrow that a second?” He asked, gesturing towards Eugene's notebook. Eugene eyed him suspiciously for a moment before reluctantly handing that and his pencil over. Dwight turned to a new page and hastily started sketching out a rudimentary plan of the compound, having spent enough time stuck there that he now knew it like the back of his hand. He laid out the buildings and the fence around it, marking one with a large 'X'. “Okay, so-” He turned the pad around so that everyone else could see it. “He's in here. This fence just to the left is wire and you can approach from the woods so there's not as much chance of being spotted. If you give me tonight, I take watch on the post just to the left. If there's nobody on the post, I can get down to cut the fence enough for someone smaller to get through. That'll be you, hippy.” He pointed at Jesus. “I'll be there again the next night, and say maybe my wife forgets to lock the door when she takes him his rations – and say I don't see someone sneaking in to pull him out.”

“Isn't that going to make you look suspicious? If you're goin' covert, letting him out on your watch is gonna look real iffy.” Abraham groused, although obviously now more receptive to the plan once it had been explained a little better. 

“Oh, I'll snitch.” Dwight nodded. “But I'll leave it as long as I can before sounding the alarm. There's a road just to the west of the woods, so you two park up there, wait for him to come back with the package and get the fuck out of there.” 

Jesus, Abe and Eugene all looked at each other wordlessly for a moment before they all seemed to come to the same conclusion. 

“What time do I show up?” Jesus said, with an almost weary resignation in his voice. Whilst the plan seemed like it might work, they still didn't know if Dwight was completely trustworthy and this still could end with all of them walking straight into a trap – but it was either that or not even try to rescue Daryl, and that option simply wasn't on the table. 

“I take the 2am shift, and I'm there until five. Nobody wants to do the night shift, they'd rather be gettin' drunk off their asses or sleepin' instead of sittin' up a post freezin' their nuts off.” Dwight shrugged, spotting the watch on Eugene's wrist and showing his own. “Here, you wanna make sure we're on the same page? I've gotta get out of here and grab some supplies - can't go back empty handed.” 

Eugene nodded, and leaned over to check the time on Dwight's watch before adjusting his own, starting to feel a little bit like they'd been thrust into the plot of a James Bond movie and hell, there was a strange small part of him that was excited by that prospect. 

“Alright,” Dwight declared, standing up and scooping up his crossbow. “I'm out. Barring any disasters, I'll see you tomorrow night.” He turned and headed towards the door before apparently suddenly remembering the other message he needed to pass on. “Oh, and if you don't want Negan knowing every move you're making - maybe don't tell Gregory.” He supplied ominously. “I suggest testing that theory.” 

Jesus' stomach dropped at the mention of Gregory, and he sat in stunned silence for a good minute after Dwight had gone. The whole time they were plotting, discussing how best to take Negan down, and Dwight had made strong allusions towards Gregory going straight back to him and telling him all of it. “Shit.” He finally uttered, rubbing his forehead frustratedly. Not only had he been unobservant enough to not realise they had a traitor in their ranks, but now he knew that however inadvertently, Hilltop had played a part in what happened to Glenn. Despite being unaware, he felt like he should have figured it out and the thought sat uncomfortably, and would probably continue to bother him for a while to come. 

“He could just be shit-stirrin'.” Abraham comiserated, although he was inwardly fighting the rising urge to head back to Hilltop and wring Gregory's fucking neck. Jesus offered a doubtful look and he sighed. “Nah, probably not.” He huffed before slamming his fist on the table angrily, making Eugene damn near jump out of his skin. “Mother _fucker_!” 

“Well, I s'pose we've got a good thirty-six hours to dwell on that little nugget.” Eugene said with a sigh. “Although I agree with Dwight's idea. When we go back, _If_ we make it back, I suggest we try and catch him out.” He paused for just a moment before adding. “Michonne's gonna be mad.” 

“Somethin' tells me there ain't nobody back there strong enough or willin' to come looking for us right now, anyway.” Abraham shrugged. “It'll be fine.” 

“Yeah, what happened to _“We're just doing a recon mission!”_. This is not what we were supposed to be doing out here!” Jesus had to laugh, because that plan had quickly gotten away from him and turned into a rescue mission and he'd done very little to stop that from happening. “It's you guys. Bad influences.” 

“Oh and you _sure_ took some persuadin'.” Abraham chuckled, pulling a cigar out of his coat pocket and lighting it. 

Jesus smirked, drumming his fingers noisily on the table, still dwelling on the situation with Gregory. “I don't know about anything else, but if we find out for sure about Gregory... I just can't believe he'd do that. I mean, I know he's an asshole, but..” 

“He's probably just done it to save his own ass. Didn't Negan want his head a while back?” 

“Mm. And that makes me almost certain that Dwight's telling the truth about that, too.” Jesus frowned. “Still, it's no excuse. People died because of him. Should lock him in a room with Maggie and a collection of sharp objects.” 

“Well,” Abe said, leaning down to reach into his bag, producing another bottle of Whiskey that he'd discovered on the way through the house. “I'll certainly drink to that.” He placed the bottle on the table with a thump and shrugged off his jacket. “So, seein' as we'll be here a while - I say you give me a chance to get my winnings back!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan puts Daryl to work, and his situation goes from bad to worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit nasty and violent and I've adjusted my tags/warnings accordingly - just wanted to let anyone know who has trouble with that kind of stuff <3

As the night wore on, Daryl could feel his health deteriorating. The cough he had was getting worse and the wound on his back had started stinging ferociously at the slightest graze. The fabric of the sweater he'd been made to wear had started feeling like sandpaper against his skin. He was no doctor but he had enough sense to know that it was infected, and the low grade antibiotics that he'd been given once a day just weren't strong enough to deal with it. Despite having Sherry as a nurse, he didn't suppose healthcare, especially not for prisoners, was high on Negan's list of priorities. The realisation was slowly dawning that if he didn't get some treatment soon, a slow and miserable death was all but inevitable, the only question mark was just how bad it was going to get beforehand. He slept sporadically, waking up in alternating cold and hot sweats and struggling to ration the small bottle of water he'd been left with.

He'd just been on the verge of sleep again when the door swung open and Negan strode in, flanked by two men that he recognised from the woods, punching the air and jeering as the first blow landed on Glenn's skull. His throat tightened and he blinked away the image, the sickness briefly giving way to a surge of anger that he struggled to suppress.

“I think you've had enough of a holiday, don't you?” Negan said chirpily, gesturing for his two companions to approach Daryl. “Get him chained up.” Obediently, the pair dragged him to his feet, the heavier-set of the two keeping him pinned to the wall whilst the other shackled his hands and feet, keeping the two linked by a chain. “This place needs some... sprucing up, don't you think?”

Daryl shrugged, tired eyes fixed forward impassively and silently questioning what the fuck that had to do with him.

“So, you're gonna do some... _”janitorial”_ work.” He chortled, complete with air-quotes, as if Daryl didn't already think he was enough of an asshole. “Come on!” Negan gestured for him to follow, and a hard shove to his back said that he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Daryl dragged his feet, the chains only allowing him to make small, shuffling steps. The two Saviors nudged at him every couple of yards or so, cackling with amusement each time it made him stagger, knowing he couldn't go any faster. The distance was mercifully short, but it soon dawned on him where they were headed. Negan stopped beside a particularly filthy looking shack and held his arms out dramatically. He headed inside for a moment and returned with a bottle of bleach and a toothbrush, shoving them into Daryl's hands, who now had no need to ask where they were.

“Good luck in there, buddy. You're gonna need it.” He chuckled, clapping Daryl's injured shoulder heavy-handedly, causing the other man to grit his teeth and restrain a yelp of agony. “These two are gonna stay out here, make sure you don't do somethin' dumb. I wouldn't advise it.” He warned, malice seeping out of his deceptively friendly tone.

“Come on, get your ass in there!” The smaller one suddenly yelled and grabbed Daryl by the sweater, more or less throwing him towards the building and sending him skidding chest first into the dusty ground, unable to raise his hands high enough to protect himself. He choked as the dirt filled his mouth and he struggled to rise to his feet whilst hyena-like laughter rang out behind him. Once more, he was dragged to his feet before being forced through the door of the shack he'd been taken to.

Now, Daryl had been in some really shitty places in his time, but the Savior's bathroom really was something else. The smell at a distance was enough to make his stomach churn. The toilets themselves looked like they hadn't been cleaned in a decade, and the stench only became more unbearable the closer he got. He could have refused, but then he didn't suppose that would change much. If anything, he'd probably end up much worse off considering what Negan had threatened the day before. He shuddered at the memory and knelt down in the first cubicle, fighting the urge to gag and losing almost immediately. He tugged the collar of his sweater up over his nose, which he soon discovered did very little to protect him from the odour that seemed to be permeating everything in the room. He held his breath and started scrubbing, limited by his own injuries and the sharp stab in his ribs each time he moved his arm. It wasn't long before he realised he wasn't really cleaning much at all given the lack of running water in the makeshift latrine and after a while, he threw the toothbrush on the floor and sat down heavily on the floor, holding his side. He'd only intended to take a break but his his eyelids drooped and and he slipped out of consciousness in a way that when he awoke, he couldn't be sure if it was sleep or that he had blacked out.

The awakening was a rude one, and his eyes snapped open just as his two guards had entered to find him unconscious and started taunting him.

“What the fuck is this shit?!” The smaller one bellowed indignantly, letting his more sizeable partner take most of Daryl's weight when they pulled him to his feet and had him up against the wall. “Nobody said you could take a fuckin' nap! Who the fuck does he think he is?” In his daze, Daryl attempted to explain but all that came out was a barely coherent mumble. Stale tobacco mingled in with the already disgusting atmosphere and he turned his head away from it, his stomach churning.

“Should put him in his place.” The larger man said darkly, and the other one smirked with a wicked glint in his eye. “You go keep a lookout. A man needs some privacy.”

"What? Why do you get-"

" _Now._ "

Daryl was still struggling with the urge to pass out again but the last sentence filtered through and he immediately froze, dread clutching at the pit of his stomach. Negan had left him alone with the men he'd threatened him with. He didn't need to break him personally when he had countless volunteers willing to do it for him. The realisation was more than enough for adrenaline to kick in and wake him the fuck up.

“Don't do this.” He said roughly, and the arm the Savior had across his neck just pushed down harder.

“Why, what's wrong? We're just having a little fun.” He scoffed, a large hand pawing at his waist and his whiskey breath doing nothing to help his nausea.

“I'm telling you. You don't want to do this.” Daryl repeated, and the Savior didn't notice the menace in his voice, that the way his hands were shaking wasn't out of fear as he continued to taunt and tell him what was coming his way. Nobody was coming to the rescue, nobody was going to kick the door in and save him. He knew from experience that there was only one chance of getting out of the situation; either make a victim or become one himself. One more large filthy hand grasping at his thigh was the final straw and Daryl saw red. He launched forwards with the only weapon he had at his disposal, barging his captor full force into the opposite wall, masking a grunt of pain as he felt a distinct _crunch_ from his already cracked rib. The Savior's head snapped back and hit the wall, leaving his throat exposed and a prime target as Daryl let out a furious yell. Undoubtedly inspired by the way Rick had dealt with Joe all those months ago, The next few moments were a blur, and clarity only returned once he was stood over his victim, who was thrashing wildly on the floor, making frantic gurgling sounds as he redundantly tried to stem the flow of blood that was cascading from the gaping wound in his throat. Beside him, a chunk of torn flesh lay mangled by his feet.

“What the _fuck_?!” A cry rang out from behind him and Daryl turned, face smeared with a mess of blood that wasn't his, wild-eyed and fully prepared to give his little buddy the same kind of treatment, only to have his ambitions cut short by the well aimed butt of a gun colliding with the bridge of his nose, sending him to the floor like a lead sack. The last thought he had before he blacked out, was that it was worth it.

 

* * *

 

“Well, well. What the fuck are we gonna do with you?”

Daryl's eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned, trying to stretch his legs but finding he wasn't able to move much at all. The voice kept talking as he slowly came around and realised he was bound tightly to a chair with rope, his calves strapped to the legs and his arms tied up behind his back.

“I mean, I'm actually kind of impressed.” Negan admitted, “And I can't say I wouldn't have done the same. That was _brutal_!” He chuckled with genuine amusement, shaking his head. “But, you know how I do things. I can't just let that go unpunished, now can I?”

Negan turned and beckoned someone over from near the door, and the second Saviour from the bathroom emerged from the shadows and fixed him with a red-eyed stare that threatened to burn a hole right through him. Negan put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. “You killed my friend here's best buddy!” He said, pulling an over-exaggerated, mockingly sad face. “As you might imagine, he's a little sore about it. So, I'm gonna leave you two here, so you can, uh, hug it out. Oh, and don't worry - I've told him to keep you alive.” Turning to the Saviour, he grinned wolfishly. “Go get 'em, Tiger.”

Negan closed the door behind him and the Saviour weighed him up for a moment. Daryl could see that little hint of fear behind his eyes because of what he'd done and he was damned in that moment if it didn't make him feel a little better, seizing a small amount of power despite everything else being so far out of his control.

“What you waitin' for?” He goaded, his confidence buoyed just a little. His hair fell in front of his face, darkening his black eyes even more as he eyed the man up and down with a pronounced look of disgust. “You gonna hit me, or are you gonna stand there all night like a little bitch?”

Daryl braced himself as the Saviour finally swung his fist with a roar, and he prayed it would be hard enough to knock him back out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue mission begins..

The day they had to wait before it was time to set about their grand rescue mission, Abe, Eugene and Jesus trekked back through the woods to the first cottage that they'd stopped at to retrieve the truck and by the time they'd picked it up and came back, the sun was going down and they had just a few hours to spare until it was time to make a move. Driving to the spot Dwight had suggested, they parked in between a couple of trees that would give them ample cover in the dark if someone decided to come wandering that way. Jesus' tapped his feet anxiously while they waited, still concerned that this could still turn into a trap, but the thought of Daryl being stuck there at the mercy of Negan was more than enough to spur him on. After a quick time-check with Eugene, he tucked his hair up inside his beanie and double checked his supplies, the bag he was taking packed full of more ammunition than anything else, though he hoped he wouldn't need it. Wandering through the woods was in itself a case of taking his life into his own hands, but he just had to hope that he wouldn't run into a herd on the way. 

“Y'all set?” Abraham asked, nudging Jesus' shoulder playfully. “You gonna do some Mission Impossible shit?” 

“Oh yeah. I've got all the harnesses in here, just in case they've got one of those laser alarms.” He joked, patting his bag. “I just hope Dwight isn't pulling a fast one on us.” 

“Well if he is, if it's any consolation, we'll put the bastard in the ground.” Abe smirked, rolling down the window and sparking up another cigar - he'd gone through so many in the last few days that Jesus was beginning to wonder where he kept them all. 

“That makes me feel a lot better, thanks.” Jesus chuckled, reaching over and pinching the cigar out from between Abraham's fingers and taking a drag. They'd had a nice team building exercise over the last few days, given the circumstances, and he felt comfortable enough to do it without getting smacked. He'd smoked cigars before, but he hadn't been prepared for quite how harsh Abe's chosen brand was. He sucked in a mouthful of smoke and it scraped against the back of his throat, causing him to cough violently and a large plume of smoke to fire out of his nose. “Ugh.” He grimaced, handing back much to Abe's amusement. “That's what I get.” 

“They're an acquired taste, that's how I like 'em.” Abe grinned smugly. “It's like havin' gum when you're a kid. Get a flavor that everyone else hates and nobody asks for it. Like licorice gum.” 

“You like licorice gum?” Jesus asked, his voice a little raspy. “I knew you were a weirdo, but Christ..” 

Abraham cackled, and Eugene poked his head over the seats again. “It's zero-hundred hours.” Eugene nodded at Jesus. “Prob'ly time to start walkin'.” 

Jesus sighed and gathered his things. “Alright, I'm out. If I'm not back by six - you might want to go and tell somebody.” He advised, matter-of-fact, because the odds of him getting back in one piece, let alone with Daryl, weren't well tilted in his favour. 

“You got this.” Abe reassured him, patting him on the shoulder. “They're less likely to see you comin' than one of us!” 

“Unless someone's tipped 'em off.” Jesus frowned, opening door and climbing out, poking his head back inside to say “Behave yourselves, boys!” Before taking a deep, calming breath and setting off. 

The trek through the woods was, much to Jesus' surprise, a lot less treacherous than he was expecting, only needing to dispatch a few stray walkers that wandered into his path as he sneaked around the dense woodland. The way the compound was lit up, which if anything was a testament to Negan's cockiness, meant that he could see it from quite a distance away, giving him chance to hold back and double check that Dwight had started his shift. A quick look at the scrawled plan of the compound and he was on the move again, inching along the fence until he found where Dwight had clipped the fence, just as he'd promised to do. It wasn't noticeably damaged at first glance, until he rolled the wire back enough for him to duck through, which meant that it would be easy to put back. It wasn't much but it might take them a big longer to figure out where they escaped from. Jesus had to admit that, just maybe, Dwight wasn't quite as dumb as he'd first assumed. He glanced up at the guard tower and the two shared a look, Dwight subtly gesturing with his thumb towards the building to the right of the fence. Jesus nodded once and stuck to the shadows, hearing the murmur of conversation floating from a large building at the centre of the compound, but it sounded far enough away for him to safely round the corner and pull open the door. Closing it behind him, he turned and took a couple of steps forward before stopping dead at he sight in front of him. laying face down on the floor, Daryl's limbs were splayed awkwardly and even from a distance he could see that several of his fingers were awkwardly bent out of place. The front of the grey sweater he was wearing had been dyed a dark shade of red and for just a moment, Jesus thought that maybe he'd turned up too late until Daryl let out a groan and shifted slightly. 

“ _Fuck_.” Jesus whispered and raced across the room, kneeling down on the floor, horrified to find that Daryl's left eye was swollen shut, his whole face mottled and swollen with varying shades of bruise, and a long, wide cut across the bridge of his nose. Jesus pulled the scarf over his face down and shook at Daryl's shoulder, gently at first, for fear of causing more harm. “Daryl? Come on, man. Wake up.” 

“No. No more.” He grumbled, twisting his arm away and moaning in pain. “Please.” 

“It's me. It's Jesus. I'm gonna help you get out of here.” He gulped, the chance of him finding Daryl in this kind of state had crossed his mind, but he'd been hoping for better, ever the optimist.“I just need you to get up, okay?” 

“Jesus?” Daryl questioned weakly, managing to open one eye to make sure it really was him. “Y'doin' here? Negan.. You're gonna get caught.” 

“Not if you get off your ass, I'm not!” He said, his sarcasm masking the sheer, blind panic bubbling in his chest, envisioning a pack of Saviours rushing the door. “Here, I'll help you up. Give me your good arm.” 

“Both bad.” Daryl groaned, waving Jesus away with one mangled looking hand as he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. To his horror, the back of Daryl's sweater was no better than the front, the blood concentrating in a brown-ish dark patch over his shoulder and he winced in sympathy as he dragged himself to his feet, cradling his arm and swaying slightly where he stood. 

“Come on, you go in front until we're out of here. I'll cover you.” Jesus said, sticking close to Daryl's stumbling frame in the increasing likelihood that he'd fall. Trying to keep his head on a swivel, he guided Daryl out of the cell, closing the door behind them and stuck like glue to the wall on the way back towards the fence, almost certain that they hadn't been seen. He pulled the fence back and let him climb through before glancing up at Dwight while he replaced the fence back where it had been as best he could. “Give us as long as you can.” He asked in a hushed tone and waited for a nod of agreement before making his own escape. 

The hill directly outside the gate was the first obstacle, with Daryl struggling to climb it before Jesus stepped in, wrapping an arm around his middle. 

“I got it.” Daryl complained as he was effectively dragged up the bank, his boots sliding around in the mud. 

“No. No you don't.” Jesus teased, figuring if the guy was at least coherent enough to give him shit then there was a chance they'd be able to make it through the woods and back to the truck. Once they'd reached the summit, Daryl wriggled out of his grip and limped on in visible discomfort. Jesus rolled his eyes and kept alongside him, constantly checking behind them to make sure they weren't yet being pursued. “Dwight's gonna give us a head start, but we've got to keep moving. Eugene and Abe are parked up just a few miles out. ”

“M'goin' as fast as I can.” Daryl muttered defensively, though he was struggling to stay on his feet. He might well have needed the help but every inch of him felt bruised and he needed his ribs binding, the last thing he wanted was anyone touching him. All Negan had allowed Sherry to do was clean up the cut on his nose, nothing that helped the injuries that were causing him real problems - but then he expected nothing less. 

“I know.” Jesus nodded, “I wasn't complaining.” Pulling his bag off his shoulder, he reached in and grabbed a bottle of water, handing it over to Daryl. “Here, take this. You might wanna have some now, before we have to start running.” 

“Thanks.” He said, although he wasn't exactly sure about how running was going to work out for him when he was only just managing to walk. “Y'showed up just in time.” Daryl informed Jesus quietly before taking a long gulp of water using the hand that was slightly less twisted, despite the obvious discomfort that still caused. 

“Really? Because it looks to me like I was a little too late.” He frowned guiltily, trying to make sure they maintained speed while they talked. 

“S'okay.” Daryl reassured him curtly, hoping that would deflect any more questions. Jesus, perceptive as ever, got the hint. Despite the limp, Daryl was still keeping up a decent pace but then Jesus supposed if it was a choice between that and getting away or having Negan and his crew catch up with them then he would have been running too, injuries or not. Of course, he should have known that the streak of good luck wouldn't last all that long, and it caught up with them when Daryl stopped suddenly, doubling over and grimacing. 

“What is it?” Jesus asked, barely masked panic in his voice. 

“Ribs.” He said with a slight wheeze, becoming winded a lot quicker than he would do normally. “One's broke... 'Least one.” 

"Why didn't you say something?!" Jesus asked exasperatedly, placing a hand gingerly on his shoulder. 

"Didn't seem important.." Daryl ground out through gritted teeth, palming the slight protrusion under his skin where one of his ribs was threatening to burst through. 

Jesus groaned in frustration, knowing that there was every chance that Daryl was in danger of a punctured lung. He was no stranger to broken ribs himself, but wasn't sure what else he could do other than get them back to the car and Daryl to a medic as quickly as possible. No sooner had he done that, the sound of a loud siren blared in the distance and he knew that their head start was officially over. 

“Shit. We need to go.” Jesus whispered, “Can you still walk?” 

“Not fast enough.” Daryl groaned, leaning against a nearby treetrunk before he fell. He looked back towards the compound that was further away but not quite far enough and swallowed thickly. “I can't go back there.” He said in a far more fragile voice than Jesus was expecting. 

“You're not going back there.” He said determinedly, “I didn't come all this way to go back alone. Now, are you gonna let me help you or not?

“'Kay.” He grunted reluctantly and let Jesus pull his arm over his shoulder and then wrapped his arm around Daryl's waist, taking care not to get too close to his ribs. 

“You good?” Jesus asked, and Daryl nodded - although he was obviously hurting. “Let's get the fuck out of here.” 

The sound of engines roared in the distance, along with the hoots and yelps of Saviours who had just been told they were off on a hunt. Jesus just had to hope that Dwight had a way of sending them the wrong way because there wasn't much hope for him or Daryl if they got hold of them. The thought made him move quicker, despite the weight leaning on him, the adrenaline proving more than enough to propel him forwards. Each time Daryl lost his footing, he gripped on tighter, the other man's words ringing in his ears. He didn't know what they'd done to him in there, but Jesus wasn't about to let it happen again. 

By some miracle, or more likely a divine intervention from Dwight, he was yet to hear the squad dispatched to hunt them down turning in their direction. An oddly tuneful whistle drifted from somewhere on the other side of the woods behind them and Daryl shuddered, leaving Jesus suitably creeped out enough to speed up even more, as fast as his legs would take him without dragging the taller man behind him. By the time he could see the car up ahead, he was gulping for air himself, cold air burning his lungs with each intake of breath. Abe and Eugene nearly leapt out of their skin in unison when he swung the door open, carefully bundling Daryl into the car and leaping in behind him. 

“They're looking for us, those roads are going to be crawling with Saviors. I think Dwight sent them the wrong way, but we need to stick to the scenic route, just to be safe. 

Abe eyed Daryl up and down, who was writhing in pain where he sat, his skin noticeably clammy. “Are you sure we can afford to do that?” 

“I don't know. We'll have to make do with the supplies we've got to patch him up as we go. If we go out onto the usual route and they catch us, we are _all_ fucked.” Jesus panted, still frantically peering out of the windows to make sure they weren't followed. “Fuck's sake, Abe - _Just drive_!” 

Abe growled to himself and put his foot down, the truck jolting as it picked up speed, causing Daryl to moan with discomfort. “Fuuuuuck.” He mumbled. “Who taught you how to drive?” 

“Oh, it lives!” Abe peered at Daryl via the rear-view mirror, smirking slightly and doing his darndest to keep everyone's spirits up. All in all, this was a successful mission, even if Daryl did look half dead. “Good to see ya, buddy.” 

“The first aid kit is in the back.” Eugene turned, gesturing over Jesus' shoulder, and Jesus leaned over the back seat to retrieve it. He pulled a torch out of his pocket and inspected the contents carefully, not even sure where to start treating Daryl's injuries, never mind attempting to do it in a moving vehicle. 

“Y'got any antibiotics?” Daryl rasped, the energy slowly seeping out of him now that he could rest. Every word was punctuated by a sharp breath, and each time a stabbing pain shot through his chest. “Think I got an infection goin' on back there. Where I was shot. Negan had his nurse give me some but it didn't do no good.” 

Having helped Harlan out back at Hilltop, Jesus wasn't completely ignorant when it came to medical care, but he was far from being an expert. Carefully, he studied several pill bottles until he found something he knew to be an antibiotic and emptied two out into his hand before passing them to Daryl, along with a couple of Percocet. “Take these. Harlan probably has something stronger back home but they'll do for now.” 

“Thanks.” Daryl said, washing them down with a swig of water before Jesus thrust a packet of crackers towards him. 

“You'll need these to soak 'em up, too.” 

“M'not hungry.” He protested, clutching the packet in his better hand and frowning at it. 

“Yeah, well, I don't want you to puke in the car, so eat 'em.” Jesus ordered, already getting the sense that Daryl needed badgering to do anything for his own good. 

“Ass.” Daryl mumbled through a mouthful of dry Saltine. 

“What else is giving you trouble?” Jesus asked, diplomatically ignoring the insult. If anything, it was reassurance that Daryl at least wasn't deteriorating yet. He was quite clearly very ill, but he was a fighter, if nothing else. 

“Stop fussin'. M'fine.” Daryl shook his head, shovelling another cracker into his mouth. 

“Oh, you're fine? Because you look like a hot shitty mess.” Jesus informed him jokingly, “What about the ribs?” 

“You're not fixin 'em in a movin' car. Not with his driving!” Daryl warned, pointed a crooked finger in Abe's direction. “I'll live until we pull over. Just calm the fuck down for a second, right?” 

“What about your fingers? They need to be put back in pla-” 

“ _Paul_!” Daryl snapped, and the fact that he'd called him by his real name was enough on it's own to shut Jesus up immediately. “Please. When we pull over. Just let me enjoy the fact that I've got a comfy seat under my ass for a second, would ya?” He could hear Abe giggling up in front and he scowled. “Whatcha laughin' at?!” 

“Nothin'!” Abe shook his head, not hiding his mirth in the slightest. “Nothin' at all.” 

Having been well and truly told, Jesus closed up the bag and placed it down by his feet. It was pointless trying to argue with Daryl, especially not since he was evidently in the middle of pulling the old _just-a-scratch_ routine, despite the fact that was, for him at least, extremely easy to tell that he was in trouble. After about half an hour, the painkillers had knocked Daryl for six and he was slumped awkwardly against the door, prompting Jesus to check every so often that he was still breathing. Safe in the knowledge that he wouldn't get complained at, Jesus shrugged off his jacket and bundled it behind Daryl's head to put something between that and the metal he was leaning against.

“Everythin' alright back there?” Eugene asked, peering over the seat. 

“Yeah, I think so.” Jesus said, rubbing his face tiredly. “I'm just crossing my fingers we can keep him going until Harlan can get his hands on him.” 

“He ain't.. bit, is he?” Abe asked quietly, breaking the unspoken rule that you shouldn't really ask until absolutely necessary. 

“No, I don't think so. You know him, he would have said.” He frowned, observing the slight tremor in Daryl's shoulders and the sweat sliding down his temples. “This kind of infection isn't any less dangerous, though. There's some ointment to try and help the antibiotics along but if this is what it's like after a few days, it's pretty ferocious. And of course, the meds were the thing that everyone grabbed first. Well, everyone who knew what they were doing, anyway. We've got a pretty decent stash back at Hilltop despite the Saviors, but we're not getting there in a hurry.” 

“Mm. Imagine what it would have been like if we left him there, though.” Abe said grimly, glancing up at a worried looking Jesus through the mirror. “Might not have been the ideal plan, but it was the best plan at the time and nowadays, that's the best thing you can hope for.” 

“Yeah.” Jesus said with a slight sigh, and rested his head back against the seat, wearily looking for headlights between the trees. “I guess so.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and his rescue team hole up for the night, and somebody can't get any peace..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos, everyone! This part took ages, but I'm posting two chapters tonight so hopefully that makes up for it!

“Come on, time to get up.”

Daryl simply groaned and rolled over, seemingly content to just continue sleeping in the car. They'd driven as far as they could towards Hilltop, but night was falling again and they were still a good five hours away after they'd all made the decision to take the longest route around, knowing that it was likely the Saviors would still be out there looking for them. Another bleak cottage was their home for the night, and once they'd swept the building, Jesus headed back out to bring Daryl in, who was having absolutely none of it. Rolling his eyes, Jesus lightly tapped the side of Daryl's cheek, one of the few places that wasn't bruised.

“Let's go, man. We're crashing here for the night.” He tried to persuade him, not really wanting to try and manhandle him out of there unless he had to.

“Go 'way.” Daryl muttered, trying to slap Jesus' hand away. “M'fine here.”

“No you're not. People are looking for us, remember?”

That was what filtered through, and slowly, clearly in a lot of discomfort, Daryl sat up and started shuffling across the seat, batting Jesus' hand away when it was offered as help, determined that he could manage by himself.

“There's some pretty comfy looking beds in there.” Jesus said, closing the car door once Daryl was on his feet, hovering nearby in case he fell, but not letting Daryl catch on that he was keeping an eye on him. He got the impression the guy didn't like much of a fuss, even when he was in that kind of state. “You can get a bite to eat and go back to sleep if you want.”

“Maybe.” Daryl shrugged, not really sure _what_ he wanted, other than a cigarette. He'd had a pretty bad few days and there wasn't even any nicotine to get him through it. Once they were through the front door, his nostrils filled with a musty, damp smell. His childhood home smelled much the same, long before everything went to shit. He found it comforting, but only because of it's familiarity. He entered the living room to find Eugene and Abe already set up with a lantern and a pack of cards, sitting around the coffee table. He turned to look at Jesus with bemusement, who shrugged and let out a chuckle.

“We've had some time to kill the last few days. It's sort of become a tradition.” He explained, walking over to the kitchenette at the far end of the room. “I'll fix up some soup. Sure we've got enough to go around.”

“I think I'm gonna just go lie down.” Daryl shook his head. He got the feeling the four of them stranded there for the night was going to end up in talking and questions he wasn't prepared to answer for himself, let alone anyone else. “Thanks, though.”

“Okay.” Jesus nodded. He didn't think it was sensible, but he wasn't about to argue with him. If he was in Daryl's position, he would have wanted to sleep for a week, too. “Yell if you need anything, right?”

“Yeah.” Daryl mumbled, disappearing out of the door and into one of the bedrooms at the end of the hall. He just about managed to crawl up the bed and put his head on the pillow before passing out again.

Back in the living room, Abe got to his feet and walked to the kitchen, perching on a stool at the counter. “Y'think he's gon' be alright?” He asked, pulling a flask out of his inside pocket and taking a drink before offering it to a visibly frazzled looking Jesus.

“I don't know.” Jesus shook his head and knocked back a swig. “I don't know what happened in there. Someone beat the crap out of him, state of his hands looked like he'd been.. tortured. Who knows what went on.” He said hesitantly. “We're gonna need to keep an eye on him, I know that much. That's if this infection doesn't get worse before we get him back to Hilltop and give him something stronger.”

“He'll be alright.” Abe tried to assure him, seeing the worry on his face. “Maybe you should catch some 'Z's yourself or else you're gonna lose those youthful good looks of yours.”

“What if something happens-”

“Me and Eugene can take it in shifts. Take that other bedroom - we'll call you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jesus nodded, finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been slowly creeping up on him all day. He took a bottle of water and headed out towards the bedroom. Pausing, he looked over his shoulder. “Thanks, guys.”

“S'fine. You go get'cher beauty sleep.” Abe teased, pulling out the camping stove. “We'll wake you up later.”

 

* * *

 

”Get your ass up.”

That familiar, organic smell flooded his senses again before he could open his eyes to investigate the request.

“Darylina, I swear if you don't..”

“I'm up.” He groaned, his own voice sounding almost alien, much softer, less damaged and rasping. He opened his eyes to find Merle leaning over him, with more hair and less wrinkles than he remembered him having the last time he saw him alive. Not the last time he saw him. That would never count. His vision slowly cleared, and he realised he was laying on the floor of their childhood home, broke-down hovel that it was.

“The hell's goin' on?” He asked, sitting up and looking down at the floor where splinters of what used to be a coffee table spread out across the nearly bald carpet where he'd been lying. He winced and touched the back of his head, leaving his fingers smeared with thick, half-dried blood. This wasn't the first time he'd woken up like that, the last was when he'd woken his Dad up one night getting in late from fixing up his bike in the yard. A flurry of drunken screams and flying fists later, and he was half conscious amid a stack of broken furniture. Merle hadn't been there that time, he rarely was when his father picked an arbitrary reason to attack. He half expected him to walk in at any minute. “Am I dead?”

“You should be so fuckin' lucky, little brother.” Merle chortled, flopping down on an armchair and pulling out a pack of Morleys. “Those fuckers did a real number on you, though.” He pointed out, extending his arm, right hand now fully intact, and offering the soft pack to his brother who took them gratefully, slowly easing himself onto the brown, battered couch that sat against the wall of their old house, the one that always stank of smoke and dog piss that lingered long after his dad had lost his mind when Opie got left in the house a little too long one too many times and relieved himself on it. The poor thing got dragged out by the scruff of his neck and Daryl never saw him again after that - and he didn't much like to think about what happened after the front door closed.

“I don't know if I can do this.” Daryl said with a shake of his head, lighting a cigarette and leaning back into the lumpy cushions. He picked at the frayed edges of a hole in his oil-stained jeans and sighed. “Negan's not going to stop. He's gonna kill all of 'em.”

“You don't got a choice, far as I see it.” Merle shrugged, putting one dirty boot up on Dad's card table, sending the half-finished game of solitaire scattering across the floor. “Besides, ain't you got a score to settle? The Korean didn't deserve to go out like that, and that's comin' from _me_.”

“There ain't enough of us.” Daryl said flatly, “The men he's got, they're-”

“Crazy?”

“Exactly. They ain't got no limits.”

“Well, I'd say you and ol' _Officer Friendly_ tearin out a man's throat was pretty up there-”

“It's not the same. We did it because we had to. They do it because they _want_ to.” Daryl frowned, because he felt like that was an important distinction to make. After all, if that wasn't the case then what made them any better as people? “You weren't there. I've been in that place and I _know_ what kinda people they are.”

“Oh, and you just had to go breakin' in, slicing his guys' throats in the middle of the night, too. That was real reasonable of you.” Merle snorted, and Daryl could tell despite the admonishment that he was at least a little proud of him. “Not to mention the RPG. I mean _Jesus_ , little brother..”

“It _was_.” Daryl said adamantly, flicking ash into a half empty beer can nearby. “It was them or us. We just didn't know how many of them there were..”

“You would have if you hadn't all gone in there half-assed.” Merle pointed out unhelpfully, getting up and walking over to the small kitchenette just off the living room, grabbing two beers out of the fridge and throwing one to his brother.

“You don't think I know that?” Daryl asked, placing the can on the floor.

“So, you need to stop sleepin' and put it right.” Merle jabbed a finger in Daryl's direction before chugging half his drink in one go, the can crumpling in his grip. “And get your shit back from that asshole, too. You _know_ crazy, little brother. Lot better than any of those picket-fence motherfuckers. You might'a gone soft but you used to run with me, remember?”

“I'm not that person any more.” Daryl said quietly, although sometimes he wished he was. Life was a hell of a lot easier when he didn't care. He took a long, considered drag on the seemingly never-ending cigarette. “I don't _want_ to be.”

“Well, maybe sometimes you have to be.” Suddenly, Merle looked at his watch and stood up abruptly, striding out towards the door. “I've gotta go find the others.”

“Wait. Where are you-” Daryl got to his feet and chased after him only to have the door slammed in his face as Merle closed it behind him. He turned the handle, but it wouldn't open. Through the screen door, he could see his brother walking towards a line of familiar figures kneeling in the front yard, before slowly lowering himself to his knees. “Merle?” Daryl called out, twisting the door handle again, more viciously as it still refused to budge, seemingly superglued shut. An unmistakeable figure strode out from the woods, Lucille in hand and an overly pleased grin smeared across his face, distorting his features and warping his skin in horrifying ways.

“I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!” Daryl yelled, the wooden door seemingly harder than steel as he pounded his hands against it until streaks of blood covered the flaking, nicotine stained paint, a flurry of threats tumbling from his lips as the bat came down and the walls around him began to ignite, dirty wallpaper cracking and peeling, raining burning fragments onto his skin. His skin began to scorch and still he couldn't take his eyes away from the bat, swinging meticulously over and over until the garden was flooded with a red, unrecogniseable mess. “ _Stop_.” He begged, voice fractured and his hands bloody and twisted as he sank to his knees. “Please stop.”

When Daryl woke up, he was screaming.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jesus have a talk, and they finally head back to Hilltop.

The sound was more than enough to wake Jesus up and send him scrambling out of bed, rushing down the hall, meeting a bleary-eyed Abe half-way.

“I'll handle it.” Jesus said quietly, and Abe returned to the living room, quietly thankful Jesus was so willing because he honest-to-god didn't know how to deal with Daryl himself. They'd been together for a good long time and Daryl was so closed off that even now, he couldn't say he knew him all that well. Jesus raced into the bedroom to find Daryl sat up and shirtless, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Daryl?” Jesus asked, and the other man jumped slightly. In the darkness of the bedroom, Jesus caught sight of the scars criss-crossing Daryl's back, behind the bruises and cuts, from healed to half-healed to bloody and raw, the shine of the scar tissue giving away the age of some of them. Because he hadn't let him in the car, he hadn't realised quite just how extensive the damage was and it stunned him into silence for a moment or two while Daryl carefully rotated his shoulder to try and ease away some of the soreness. “You alright?”

“M'fine.” Daryl answered gruffly, although he was still clearly breathing heavily. Opening a wardrobe, he stood and stared at it for a moment before using his slightly less injured hand to grab checked shirt and he held it up. Thankfully the house's former resident clearly wasn't a small guy. It wasn't his usual 'style' but then he'd been more or less wearing the same things for over a year so he didn't really have much of one to begin with. Grimacing silently, he pulled the shirt on and started looking around the room.

“It's just I heard-”

“ _M'fine_. It was nothin'.” He snapped, “Y'wanna help me, start lookin' for some smokes.” He lifted his hands slightly and frowned. “Might have some trouble doin' it on my own.”

“I really don't think smoking-” Jesus tried again, knowing full well that he was coming off like a nag but at the same time feeling like he should at least attempt to save Daryl from himself.

“You think real careful about endin' that sentence, Jesus.” Daryl narrowed his eyes, crouching down to check inside one of the cabinets at the side of the bed. “'Specially before I find what I'm lookin' for.”

“Abe has some cigars.. But honestly, I wouldn't bother.” Jesus advised, his throat still a little sore from last time. He pulled open the top of a chest of drawers to be greeted by the sight of several beauties pouting up at him from a small collection of porno magazines, and several toys that were a little too adventurous looking, even by his standards. A surprised laugh burst out of him and he closed the drawer quickly, shaking his head. “Nope. Not in there. I'll check the coats in the hall..” He wandered away, snickering.

Confused by what had amused Jesus so much, Daryl got to his feet and used an unbroken finger to tug at the drawer where Jesus had left it slightly ajar. Lifting his eyebrows at what was inside, he nudged it closed with his elbow. “Well I'm not smoking _that_.” He concluded, and a loud snort came from the other side of the door. Abe poked his head out from the living room curiously and Jesus gave him a silent thumbs up, which was good enough for him and disappeared back to his makeshift bed on the couch.

“I told you..” Jesus said, amused. He emerged around the corner holding two sealed decks of Morley's. “Somebody must have stocked up before... well, whatever happened to 'em. Probably best not to think about that one, huh?”

In that brief moment, Daryl could quite honestly have kissed him - before his brain caught up with him and he had to wonder where in the hell that sudden urge had come from. It was the cigarettes, of course. He hadn't had a cigarette since Dwight had captured him and the others, and given what had happened in the meantime, he was more than a little desperate. He plucked one of the decks from Jesus' hand and tore the plastic wrapping off with his teeth, and quite honestly Jesus was kind of impressed at just how quickly he was adapting to having several broken fingers, because it had to have hurt like hell.

“Y'gotta light?” Daryl asked, a cigarette perched between his teeth as he swiped a small pile of jewellery from a china dish on the dresser in order to use it as an ashtray. Jesus nodded and pulled a zippo out of his pocket, flipping the lid and holding it out to let Daryl light his smoke. “Thanks.” He nodded, and sat cross-legged on the bed, one arm wrapped around his ribs as he took his first drag, closing his eyes and sighing at the sudden rush of much needed nicotine, head lowered and his shoulders sagged.

“That better?” Jesus asked, picking up the packet and taking one for himself, deciding if he couldn't beat him, he might as well join him, and it just wasn't worth heading outside to partake. It was unlikely that the Saviors would have headed that far in their direction, but he wasn't about to start taking any chances now. If they got their hands on Daryl again, they'd almost definitely kill him. He sat down on the opposite end of the bed with his back resting against the footboard.

“Little bit.” Daryl nodded, in visible discomfort as he shifted against the pillows. “Y'got any more of those pills?”

“A few.” Jesus nodded, “I'm sure Harlan's got something that'll work better, though - when we get back, that is.”

“ _If_ we get back.” Daryl corrected him grimly.

“They don't know where we'll be headed. They don't know it's me who got you out - they think you went out alone.” Jesus shrugged. “There's no way you made it this far on foot, right?”

“I think you're bein' real optimistic with this foolproof plan o'yours.” Daryl said, looking at Jesus tiredly. “But we can hope, I guess. 'Cause that always works out well.” He snorted mirthlessly. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm just...” He pondered on the word for it for a moment before giving up. “Tired, I guess. I don't know. Thanks, anyway, for gettin' me out.”

“You're welcome. We kind of promised Michonne we were just going to scope the place out, plan the best way to get you out but then Dwight came along and.. we had to take the chance while we had it, even if that does mean we're gonna get chewed out once we get back.”

“Prob'ly just as well you did.” Daryl nodded, hair falling in his eyes as he inspected the dirt and blood under his nails and trying to smoke without catching the split in his lip. He couldn't remember much past that happening, after Negan had locked him in with that bastard, but that was probably for the best, all things considered. “They weren't real fond of me in there. I don't think they would've been takin' me back to Alexandria in one piece. They didn't need no ransom, they were gonna walk in there and take what they wanted anyway.”

He said it such an casual way that it caught Jesus off guard a little. If that particular group of psychopaths had it out for him, which was probably inevitable at that point, he wouldn't have been so calm about it. “Yeah, we had the same thoughts ourselves. Abe said it, everyone else was thinking it.” Jesus admitted. “Good thing we had an inside man, huh?”

“Yeah. Dude's still a fuckin' dick, though.” Daryl noted, because it would take a hell of a lot more than that to get him off the hook for Denise, for taking the others and putting them in Negan's path in the first place. “And he's not even the worst of 'em. What I've seen, you take all the sickest fuckers who survived this far and put 'em all in one place? That's them. Negan's the worst of the bunch, and I've met some real assholes in the last coupl'a years.” He paused to take a drag, his voice crackling as the smoke sat in the back of his throat. “Last coupl'a decades, really.”

“I would never have guessed that about you.” Jesus teased, crossing his legs out in front of him.

“S'at supposed to mean?” Daryl asked in a way that Jesus couldn't quite tell if he took the joke well or not.

“You look like a guy who's seen some shit, is all.” He shrugged, reaching over and flicking ash into the dish that looked like it might have been worth a few dollars, once upon a time.

“Well, you got me there.” Daryl nodded slowly, a faint smile curling his lips. “What did you do? Before all this, I mean.”

“Uh,” Jesus was hesitant, because that wasn't a question someone had asked in a very long time. Nobody really cared, these days. How useful you were to them now was far more important, in the grand scheme of things. “Not a whole hell of a lot, honestly. Degree in art which is like, _totally_ useful now, obviously. Took the art student route of getting a job in a bank just to pay my half of the rent which I fucking _hated_. I was thinking about throwing in the towel when life sort of made the decision on my behalf.” He paused for a moment, because there was more to it than that. A hell of a lot more, but he didn't think Daryl was all that interested in his life story. “Rolled around the state on my own for a while when everything happened, but once you run into enough packs of assholes who want to take your shit and leave you in a ditch you realise there's safety in numbers. Found Hilltop a few weeks later just as it was forming - Guess I got lucky, really. I probably lasted way longer than I should have out there. I mean, I can handle myself but I wouldn't have stood a chance on my own against a group like the Saviors. Most of the people I ran into were disorganised and dumb, really.”

“I was expectin' something way more... weird.” Daryl said, peering out at Jesus between tendrils of hair.. “Gettin' outta being tied up, flinging yourself around like some kinda god damn Karate Kid..”

“I had tons of hobbies when I was a kid. Karate and Scouts being two of 'em.” Jesus grinned. “Got into some weirder ones when I was older. Let's just say I'm really good at untying knots and leave it at that.”

“Riiiiiight.” Daryl drawled, nodding his head slowly.

“I wasn't so great at making friends. My parents were always signing me up for clubs and shit. Still, useful now, I guess.” Jesus said ponderously. “What about you? Everyone has hobbies, right?”

“Fixin' stuff?” He shrugged, without mentioning that it was because there was a lot of things to fix. It wasn't so much a hobby as ' _Dad broke it and we don't have the money to buy another one_ '. “Brother taught me how to hunt...” He pondered it for a moment more before shrugging. “Didn't really have no hobbies, I guess.”

Jesus almost regretted returning the question. He'd had a relatively privileged upbringing, comfortably middle class, liberal parents - and it was easy to forget that not everyone had the same experience when all of the people he had hung around with before everything went wrong were in a similar boat. “Those are pretty handy skills to have though, right?” Jesus raised an eyebrow, changing the subject just enough. “Christ, if I could hunt... Were you guys living on steak the whole time, or?”

“Well. I guess you could call some of it steak..” Daryl shrugged, because it could if you were strictly talking about cuts. It was just cuts from a wildly differing selection of animals. “Y'ever eaten' dog?”

Jesus looked horrified for a moment, eyebrows raised. “No. No, I have not. I have never been _that_ hungry, and if I was, I'd probably eat out-of-date candy before Fido.”

“S'not that bad. Kinda... beefy.” Daryl continued, amused by the fact that he'd managed to gross Jesus out. “Little bit of salt, cook it on a fire... Prob'ly eat better now than I did before, if anything.”

“You need to stop.” Jesus held a hand up and laughed a little, quickly catching on to Daryl's game.

“Raw squirrel guts. I mean... full of iron, right? S'good for ya.” He continued, the faintest of chuckles vibrating in his throat. “Rats an' snakes are pretty tasty..”

“For fuck's sake..” Jesus grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Don't much like dog food, though..” Daryl said without thinking, which was what happened whenever he let himself get just a little too comfortable - which was a rare thing in itself. He said just a little too much, and slowly whatever glimmer of levity remained in his voice faded away.

“Dog food?! _Fuck_!” Jesus' nose wrinkled, still finding it pretty funny until he saw the odd, distant look on Daryl's face. “When?”

“'Bout three days ago.” Daryl admitted quietly, reaching for another cigarette. He'd been doing well not to up until that point, despite the urge to chainsmoke the lot. Jesus reached over and offered a light which was gratefully received.

“I'm sorry.” Jesus said honestly, because he really didn't know how else to respond.

“S'fine.” He shrugged, not sure how to take it because it wasn't often that anybody said it. Not any more, anyway. Bad shit happening was just a part of life, now. If everyone got a 'sorry' for every shitty thing that happened to them, people wouldn't say anything else. The funny thing was that the dog food wasn't even the worst part - but nobody needed to hear that.

“You say that a _lot_.” Jesus noted, lighting another cigarette for himself.

“Wouldn't make no diff'rence if it wasn't.” Daryl asked flatly. He was slowly realising he'd probably said more in the last half hour than he had in the past week, and the more he did, the more uncomfortable it made him, but he was exhausted, miserable and sick, much too tired to keep the stoic pretence up right then. Even when he was asleep he couldn't get away from what had happened, what was _going_ to happen. “People got their own shit to deal with.”

“That doesn't mean your 'shit' doesn't matter.” Jesus said, a little surprised at the honesty, especially from Daryl. Still, he supposed sometimes people found it easier to confide in people they didn't know all that well. The other man shrugged slightly, and immediately winced when his shoulder complained about it. “I'm serious.” Jesus continued. “We've got someone back at Hilltop. She used to be a counsellor-”

“No.” Daryl interrupted, before correcting himself. “No, thanks. I don't need somethin' like that. I'm good.” He sighed, blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. The thought of burdening someone else with it all just wasn't worth entertaining. Hell, a counsellor who had spent that long staying alive had probably seen worse.

“Alright.” Jesus nodded, not intending to push the issue even if the situation did prod at his urge to help in any way he could, sometimes when it wasn't really wanted. “If you ever change your mind though, just let me know, okay?”

“Mhm.” He agreed in the most non-committal way a person could possibly be, and was pretty relieved when Jesus took it. The other man, sensing it was time for him to get out of there, slowly started rising to his feet.

“Well, I'm gonna go get a couple more hours before we have to leave.” He said, stretching his arms and letting his shoulders crack satisfyingly. “You gonna be alright?”

“Sure.” He said, “Y'know you don't gotta come runnin'.”

“What can I say? I can't help myself.” Jesus said wryly, turning towards the door. “Night, Daryl.”

“G'nite.”

 

* * *

 

At sun up, Daryl and his unlikely rescue team siphoned gas from the abandoned car in the yard, and set off towards Hilltop, the majority of the journey spent in comfortable silence, with Daryl alternating between smoking out of the window and sleeping. The other three kept vigilant, Jesus constantly checking behind them to check if they were being followed, Eugene and Abraham doing the same through the front. It seemed, for the time being at least, that going out of the way had served it's purpose. A few hours later, earlier than they'd anticipated, they had arrived at the gates and rolled into the front yard.

A small crowd of Hilltop residents had gathered on the doorstep as the four emerged, and Daryl's first instinct was to tell each curious pair of eyes on him to fuck off. Before he could, he felt a cautious hand on his back.

“Let's get you to Harlan.” Jesus said quietly, and stuck close by protectively as they made for the door, the throng parting like the Dead Sea to let them through. They made it half way down the grand corridors of the house before Michonne emerged looking half confused, half like she was was fixing to beat the holy hell out of Jesus.

“What happened to the _recon mission_?!” She asked, wide-eyed. “You could have gotten yourselves killed!”

“Something came up.” Jesus explained calmly, although inwardly terrified that Michonne was about to take a swing at him. “I promise, I will explain _everything_ once I've taken Daryl to see a doctor. It's pretty urgent.”

Sighing frustratedly, she nodded once and reached out to squeeze Daryl's hand before catching sight of the state of it and taking hold of his wrist instead. “It's good to see you.”

“Can't get rid'a me that easy.” Daryl said roughly, and Michonne grinned, though he could see the pity just behind her eyes and he _hated_ it. Her stare hardened as she returned her gaze back to Jesus, who could tell she was trying really hard to stay mad at him.

“Soon as you're done, you come find me. I had to tell Rick once it got past the time we agreed.” She said pointedly before looking back over her shoulder in the doorway of the sitting room. “And thanks. Had us worried we wouldn't get any of you back.”

“No problem, and I'm sorry.” Jesus smiled and got a stone-faced nod in response, and he cocked his head down the corridor towards the infirmary. “Let's go.”

Luckily, Harlan was doing inventory in the stores when they arrived, and he poked his head out of the door, eyes widening at the sight of his latest, dishevelled and bloodied patient. “Jeez, someone's been in the wars, huh?” He said chirpily, a hangover from his time as a paediatrician. Placing a bundle of pill bottles down on a nearby table, he patted the table and beckoned Daryl over. “You take a seat over here, I'll need to take a look at you.”

For a moment, Daryl looked awkwardly between Harlan and Jesus before reluctantly taking a seat on the bench. Jesus pulled his gloves off and shoved them into his pocket, relieved that he'd finally managed to get Daryl in front of a doctor and he was actually willing to let him help.

“If you don't need me, I need to go and talk with Rick.” He said, and Harlan nodded. Jesus turned to Daryl and reassured him. “You're in good hands. I'll pop by later, see how you're getting on.”

“Yup.” Daryl grunted, still looking visibly uncomfortable as Harlan began to ask him questions about his injuries and Jesus disappeared out of the door. It was probably better he hadn't stayed, he supposed, considering the amount of fussing he was doing even when he didn't know how bad it was.

Jesus, meanwhile, was bracing himself for an almighty talking to when he shrugged off his coat and walked into the same room Michonne had headed into. Despite what had happened, Rick was still an intimidating guy, and he wasn't all that keen to get on the wrong side of him given how volatile he knew he could be.

“Hey..” He said, trying to sound casual.

“You got him back.” Rick said, rising to his feet from the couch. He looked better, like he'd at least been coaxed into the shower, but the dark rings under his eyes and the dazed look that lingered behind them told him things hadn't improved all that much.

“We did. He's just in with Harlan, now. He's had a rough time, couple of broken bones and he's pretty beat up. Probably needs some antibiotics for his bullet-hole, but he's walking and talking so that's something.” Jesus nodded, his explanation tumbling out in a hurry in the hope that it would be enough to calm both him and Michonne down. “I know what I said, and I swear to you that we were just planning on checking out Negan's place, but then we were offered some help that we couldn't turn down.”

“Help?” Michonne asked curiously. “From who?”

“Dwight. Believe it or not.” Jesus said, still a bit incredulous about the fact himself. “Told Daryl what he was planning, then came and found us and told us the same. Apparently even Saviors have limits.”

“The skeevy bastard who shot Daryl?! Who kidnapped us?” She gaped, and she exchanged a puzzled, slightly irritated look with Rick. “And you thought it was a good idea to trust _him_?”

“It was a calculated risk-”

“It was a _stupid_ risk. It could have been a trap! What were you-”

“Michonne.” Rick said, taking Jesus by surprise with his calm and measured tone. “They're back here in one piece - must mean he stuck to his word.”

“He did.” Jesus nodded. “We couldn't have done it without him. He kept watch, split the fence, his wife left the building they were keeping him in unlocked. He also gave us some information that we need to look into.”

“And that is?” Rick asked, his curiosity evidently piqued. Jesus turned and closed the sitting room door, moving closer to where the couple were standing.

“Someone has been feeding information to Negan. It's how he found you, how he had everything set up to trap you that night. We need a way to prove it before anyone can act, but he says that Gregory is the messenger.” Jesus said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Aside from the Alexandrians, he didn't know who of his own people he could trust with that information, most of whom were unflinchingly loyal when it came to Gregory. Until he could be proven guilty, his word just wasn't going to be enough.

Rick bristled, his lip curling and looking like he was about to set off in search of him right then and there.

“ _Please_.” Jesus implored, holding up his hands. “You have to let me handle this the right way. The people here don't know him like I do. They think he's a good leader - they need to see that he isn't for themselves. Believe me, I would like nothing more than to let you have at him, but we need to prove it or we're going to have a revolt on our hands here. We don't need that kind of aggravation right now, Rick.”

Rick's fist clenched and he began pacing, raking a hand through his hair frustratedly, inwardly conflicted between the side that knew Jesus was talking sense, and the other that told him to walk right into the fucker's office and smash his brains in.

“We also have a contact now, in Dwight.” Jesus continued, trying to provide a distraction if only temporarily. “He's willing to provide information - supply run itineraries, outposts, places we'll find Saviors. We'll have to be a little... _creative_ , but if we can whittle his numbers down by stealth, we've got a shot of having a level playing field when it's finally time to take Negan down.”

Michonne nodded, impressed at the fact that Jesus and the others had not only returned with Daryl, but with a battle plan and a little bit of hope - it was something they all needed, especially Rick.

“Soooo... we're good?” Jesus looked between the two of them, a wry smirk on his face. “You're not gonna hit me?”

“Nah, you're okay. For now.” Michonne smirked, and Rick nodded in agreement.

“You did good.” Rick said, managing a small smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He said with a nod. “So, how's Maggie?”

“Better, thankfully.” Rick said, the relief written all over his face. “Harlan thinks she had some kind of kidney infection, got her on some antibiotics and painkillers. She's resting now. Gonna take some time for her to get over all of this. She's told us she wants to stay here a while instead of heading back to Alexandria in the mornin'. Prob'ly for the best, considering who's planning on turning up.”

“What are you going to do when he does?” Jesus asked, really not sure what kind of answer he was going to get.

“Play along. For now.” Rick said, and Jesus could just tell that it was against every fibre of his being to do so. He must have wanted to destroy Negan the second they crossed paths again. Hell, Jesus wanted to end him for what he'd done and he didn't even know these people all that well. “We'll let him get comfortable, think he's getting what he wants - then when the time comes, we'll give him what he _deserves_.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jesus nodded in agreement, and he just had to hope that the pay off was going to be worth it. “Obviously, you've got our full support in whatever way we can give it. We'll figure this out, however it goes down.”

“I 'preciate it.” Rick said, maybe just a glimmer of his will to fight returning. “ _We_ appreciate it.”

“Once Harlan has got Daryl fixed up, I'll have him let you know when he's good for visitors. I'm sure he'll be happy to see the both of you.” Jesus said with a smile. “Meanwhile, I'm going to catch up on some sleep. Been a long couple of days.”

With that, he left the pair to discuss and headed back to the infirmary to find Harlan preparing a drip and Daryl notable by his absence. A brief rush of worry washed over him before the doctor must have caught the look on his face and intervened.

“I sent him to shower before I bandage everything up and put him on this drip. I don't know what they had him doing out there but it was _not_ fragrant.” Harlan chuckled. “You've no need to look so worried. He's in a mess but I'm pretty sure he'll live. There's some small fractures, big old rib break and that gunshot wound isn't pretty but the meds should sort that out. Hardest thing is going to be keeping him at rest - I have had _eight year olds_ who are easier to keep in a seat than that guy. Constantly wanting to get up, go find Rick, go have a smoke... _Christ_. I pity the poor bastard who has to keep an eye on him.” He rolled his eyes and got the drip hooked up to a long metal post.

Jesus knew that if the others were leaving, that person would probably be him. Still, he was sure that he'd manage... probably.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe finds Jesus in a strange place, Rick visits Daryl in the infirmary.

“Whatcher doin' out here?” 

Jesus woke up with a start and the book he'd been reading landed on the floor with a loud slap. Abe chortled, looming over him with an amused grin on his face and proffering a mug of coffee towards his face. 

“I was reading... fell asleep.” Jesus mumbled, rubbing his eye with the side of his hand and trying to stretch out the crick in his neck. He squinted slightly, then took the cup. a

“Ain'tcha got a room or somethin'?” Abe raised an eyebrow and took a noisy slurp of his own drink. 

“Yeah, I was just-” 

“Lurkin'.” Abe smirked broadly. 

“I was _not_ lurking. Harlan went to bed. I figured I'd hang around in case anybody needed anything.” He explained, blowing on his drink before taking a sip. 

“In case _Daryl_ needed anythin'.” He corrected him jokingly. 

“Maybe.” He said, glancing over his shoulder towards where the other man was sleeping, and had been for a while. “He was kind of a mess when we got him in there. Can't help but feel part of that is on me. If we hadn't made that deal, maybe Negan wouldn't have-” 

“Or maybe he would've.” Abe shrugged. “We could'a said no, and that asshole would'a still rolled up on us eventually. Who's to say it wouldn't have always turned out like this.” 

“I guess.” Jesus frowned guiltily. 

“Thing is, we could go over all the should'a, would'a, could'a as long as we got holes in our asses, but ain't gonna change what _is_.” Abe pointed out gruffly. “All we can do is deal with that shit accordingly.” 

“You know, if you'd have wrote a book before, I'd have read it.” Jesus grinned up at him and got to his feet. 

“I still might.” Abe chuckled, then nodded in the direction of the infirmary. “Doc say he's gonna be alright?” 

“Yeah. Rest and meds should fix him up. Harlan seems to think it might take a while to get his arm moving again, though.” Jesus frowned. 

“Ooh, he ain't gonna like that. Haven't seen the dude sit down for longer than an hour.” Abe pointed out. “Gonna need a distraction.” 

“I'm sure I'll think of something.” Jesus grinned, leaning down to retrieve his book. 

“Just don't give up on 'em. That's all. He's a prickly asshole and he'd sooner punch you than tell you he's hurtin', but he ain't gonna take any of this well.” 

“I'll keep an eye on him.” Jesus assured, “He ain't the first prickly asshole I've had to deal with.” 

“I'm sure it ain't!” Abe laughed, following Jesus out into the corridor. “Hey, I'm gonna go see what the rest of 'em are doin', but maybe try sleepin' on somethin' that ain't a bench next time!” 

“Hey, I've slept on worse!” He joked over his shoulder before turning off towards his bedroom. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

After Harlan had pumped him full of antibiotics and painkillers - along with a little something to 'calm his nerves' as he put it - Daryl finally, mercifully managed to sleep without being disturbed by his brain reminding him of what he'd seen, what he might _still_ see, and woke up feeling just a little more alive than he had been the night before. It looked like mid-morning outside and the house was silent - amazing, considering how many people they had living in the place. Some might have found it peaceful, but Daryl found it overbearing. Gave him too much time to think and the walls, despite the size of the room, felt like they were slowly moving inwards. 

If there was one thing Daryl was bad at, it was sitting still. Even more so when he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. He glared resentfully at the drip in his hand and tried to flex his fingers with gritted teeth. Harlan had reset the bones and now it was just a matter of time before he'd be relatively back to normal, or so they told him. The word 'rest' had been bandied around near him way too much for his liking and the thought of sitting on his ass for even a day longer was making him fidgety and frustrated - and it was only day one. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, in the hand-me-down shirt he'd found and pyjama pants that had been thrust in his direction in the absence of any possessions other than the blood-stained and stinking track pants that Negan had forced him into. They were almost _too_ comfortable, if anything. 

A knock on the infirmary door made him look up to find Rick hovering in the doorway anxiously, and Daryl waved him in with his free hand. 

“Rick?” He said, voice crackling when his brother crossed the room and wordlessly pulled him into a hug. It was all he could do to not start sobbing into his shirt. When he pulled away, he swiped his thumb under his eye and cleared his throat. He was almost relieved to see that Rick wasn't completely stoic either, moving to the other side of the bed with glassy, red eyes. 

“S'good to see you.” Rick rasped, dragging a chair to the side of the bed and sitting down. 

“Likewise.” Daryl nodded, the corners of his mouth almost twitching into a smile and his throat still tight. 

“How're you feelin'?” Rick asked cautiously. 

“Like a sack of crap.” Daryl said bluntly, but with at least an attempt at good humour. “But I'm here so that's somethin'. How's everyone holdin' up?” 

“Survivin'.” Rick frowned, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face tiredly. If Daryl didn't know better, he'd say Rick looked like he was done. “Nobody says much. Maggie and the baby are doin' better but she's told Michonne she ain't comin' back to Alexandria. I can't say I blame her. Not really.” He sighed, shaking his head. “How did I let this happen?” 

“It ain't your fault.” Daryl assured. “Nobody should've been out there. Wouldn't have been if it wasn't for me-” 

“ _Don't_.” Rick warned, knowing exactly where Daryl's mind was headed and that it was nowhere good. “We were out there trying to get Maggie to Harlan. She started getting stomach pains and we had nobody there to deal with it.” 

“'Cause of Denise.” Daryl added sadly. Another person who should have still been alive. “If the others hadn't been chasin' me all over, they wouldn't have been taken.” 

“If Glenn hadn't been with you, he would've been with us.” Rick said, clearly trying to assuage some of Daryl's guilt. “From what Dwight told Jesus, They'd been plannin' this for a long time, just waitin' to get us out in the open. One way or another, they were going to get us out there.” 

“I still should'a listened.” He said quietly, eyes down and scratching at one of the half-moon shaped scabs where he'd scored his nails into his skin when they were out in the woods. “Glenn said I wasn't out there for Denise, I was out there for me - and he was right. I was only thinkin' about making Dwight pay for what he did. It was all I could think about and now-” He shook his head, ignoring the ache in his chest as his guilt tried to claw it's way upwards. 

“We _all_ made mistakes. We underestimated them. _I_ underestimated them. They've got at least three times the numbers we thought.” Rick cut in, placing his hand on the edge of the bed. “But we can't focus on it. If there's a way outta this, we have to find it. Together.” He sighed, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. “Do you think we can rely on Dwight?” He asked, the lines in his forehead almost permanently creased into a worried frown.

“I think we need to see how things pan out from here on in, but as much as I hate that weasel-y little bastard he's been true to his word in everything he's done so far. Negan gives 'em protection but it definitely ain't free.” He glanced towards the door in case anyone was nearby before continuing. “If he's right about Gregory, and it wouldn't surprise me if he was, I'd say he's on the up and up.” 

“Jesus said he was gonna try and get some kind of itinerary to us. Give us a heads up on where Negan's men are gonna be - see if we can't ' _thin out the herd_ '.” 

“Do you think that's a good idea? Given what he did to us for goin' after his people?” Daryl asked. His voice was laced with audible anxiety and he _hated_ it. He always said he wasn't afraid of anything, now afraid was all he ever seemed to be. “I know we can't live like this forever, but-” 

“If we're careful, maybe. Between you and me, I don't know what to do for the best any more.” Rick answered simply, and that was the scariest thing of all. Rick wasn't an _I don't know_ kind of guy. He was a _We'll get this done by any means necessary_ kind of guy. It was like Glenn's death was too much of a defeat before the battle even started and hell, maybe that was why he picked him. Negan had been onto them for longer than they ever knew, maybe he knew that killing Glenn would rip out their hearts - and it worked like a charm. “Having someone on the inside, if that _is_ what we have - I guess that will help.”

“You guess?” Daryl asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They're an army. We ain't.” Rick reasoned, his voice fraying at the edges. “Alexandria might be able to fight the walkers now, but these people? They're more organised, armed to the teeth.. we'd be asking 'em to fight a _war_.” 

“Then that's what we gotta do.” Daryl said firmly, masking his doubt, knowing the task would be a whole shit-ton harder than it sounded. “Train 'em. Shit, send 'em here to me and I'll do it, if that's what it takes. it'll give me somethin' to do in this place. They might have the firepower but believe me, Negan's the smartest one in the room over there. Dwight and his wife are already turnin' on 'em, how many others with half an ounce of sense are gonna do the same if they know there's somethin' better? As for the rest of them... well, if they go down with Negan then the world wouldn't have lost much, trust me.”

Rick nodded, like that was just what he needed to hear. His face hardened, looked a little more determined and the leader that Daryl knew was still there, he just needed a little coaxing into coming back out. “Y'think we've got a shot?” He asked cautiously, and there might have even been a hint of optimism in there. 

“I'd rather die findin' out than end up bein' Negan's bitch.” He said, reaching over to the table beside him to grab a bottle of water. “Besides, can't let him get away with what he did. We can't just lie down and take it - Glenn wouldn't have wanted that.” 

“Maggie said more or less the same.” Rick nodded, “I thought what happened might'a sent her over the edge, you know? But she wants to fight. That woman is stronger than all of us.” There was a little glint of pride in Rick's eyes when he talked about Maggie, and it settled some of Daryl's own worries about her well-being. “Y'gotta promise me somethin', though.” Rick said, fixing Daryl with a firm stare. “No more half-assed, one-man missions. I can't afford to lose anyone else, not to him. You keep out of his line of fire. If anyone asks, we ain't seen you. Jesus is gonna keep an eye on that rat Gregory, see if he tries tellin' any more tales - that's if he hasn't already.” 

“You sayin' I should get ready to run?” He asked. The mere thought was tiring. Hell, at that point he was more inclined to let Negan go to town on him with that bat than start running again - it was only one strange, new feeling that was stopping him from letting Negan exact his punishment, that there were some people who for some unknown reason actually gave a shit about him. People he couldn't try and protect if he wasn't around. 

“I'm sayin' you should be ready for anything, like always. Just don't get into any fights you can't win. Not right now.” 

“Got it.” Daryl said with a nod, and just as he said that, Harlan entered the room, offering a brief greeting before setting about preparing yet more bandages and vials of medication. Daryl turned his attention back to Rick “So when are you heading back?” 

“Later. _He'll_ be turning up in a day or so. I want to get back there before he does.” 

“I'd say I'd come with, but-” 

“We can't risk it.” Rick interjected, like he'd been anticipating the suggestion, like it had been discussed. It made Daryl a little uncomfortable to know everything had already been arranged without him. Still, he understood. Just typical that he'd just started getting comfortable before everything happened, and now he wasn't allowed to go back. Maybe he never would be. “Not until Negan is taken out. He'll be looking for you and having you there, even if we try and hide you - it could put everyone in danger.” 

“It's okay. I get it.” Daryl nodded, not intending to make Rick feel any worse about it than he already did. “Guess I'll see you all when you're swapping supplies, huh? You could send Carol out here once in a while with those cookies of hers.” 

Rick's face fell slightly, and Daryl's stomach dropped. 

“What?” He asked, panic edging his voice. “Did something happen to her?” 

“No, no.” He said quickly. “Not as far as I know.” 

“What does _that_ mean?” 

“She left Alexandria. Not long before you did. You'd already gone before we could tell you.” Rick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn't anticipated having to break that particular piece of news. “She left a note, said she wanted to be on her own. She didn't want to kill any more, but thought that if she stayed with us, she'd have to.” 

“So what she's just- just _gone_?” Daryl asked shakily. “She's out there alone? What if the Saviors find her, man?!” 

“I went looking for her with Morgan. I came home, Morgan stayed out there. We went looking for her as soon as we knew so we couldn't have been far behind her and we were on the right track. Look, don't worry too much. I'm sure he'll be able to track her down.” 

Daryl nodded silently as it dawned on him that rather than looking for Dwight, looking to dole out revenge, he could have been out there on Carol's trail instead of leaving her out there alone and at the mercy of Negan's men, should they come upon her. “Yeah.” He said quietly, trying not to imagine the danger she could be in. 

“Don't go out there.” Rick said firmly, as though he knew exactly what Daryl was thinking. “Please, promise you won't. Least not yet. They don't want to kill her, but they _definitely_ want to kill you. ” He closed his eyes, realising that telling him about Carol's disappearance had been a mistake. “ _Daryl_.” 

“I swear.” He said quickly. “But if you find her, get a message to me. Do _somethin'_.” 

“You've got my word.” Rick swore, rising to his feet when he noticed Harlan approaching the bed and nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Looks like you've got an appointment. I'll make myself scarce.” He reached down and squeezed Daryl's shoulder. “Look after yourself, brother.” 

“I'll try.” He said with a small, watery smile. “You take your own advice once in a while, huh?” 

“I'll try.” Rick echoed, and headed out to load the trucks.


	11. Chapter 11

Once the others had headed off, and after some persuasion - or rather complaining until he couldn't bear to listen to it any more - Harlan allowed Daryl to take himself outside for some 'fresh air' - which Daryl translated as half a pack of smokes, which Jesus had helpfully left next to his bed despite his own better judgement. Pulling the drip along with him, he limped through the halls of the state house, using the drip and it's casters as a makeshift walking aid and determinedly ignoring the sideways glances from the Hilltop people as he shuffled by. Opening the door, he stepped out onto the porch and tried to ignore the giddy feeling that rushed through his head when he took in a lungful of oxygen, the way everything seemed to sway a little and his heart started racing. 

“Is that Daryl? Defying medical advice to smoke cigarettes? Now there's a surprise..” A voice cut through the fog, and he turned towards the benches on the porch. Jesus grinned up at him from his seat and Daryl scowled. 

“Is that Jesus? Being a mouthy little prick? Must be a day endin' in 'Y'.” He groused, ignoring the sudden spike in his nerves and Jesus snickered, shifting along the bench to make room for Daryl - and his drip - to sit down.

“Well, if you insist..” Jesus smirked, pinching the pack of cigarettes Daryl clutched in his hand. 

“Watch it.” Daryl narrowed his eyes and sat down, although made no effort to snatch the pack back until Jesus had taken a smoke for himself and lit it. “Y'got some nerve.” He scolded him, although despite his best efforts, Jesus knew he didn't mean it. He balanced a cigarette between his teeth and cocked his head towards the door. “Harlan ain't too impressed with me right now.” 

“Probably because you're dragging a precious commodity around the house like an asshole.” Jesus pointed out. 

Daryl chuckled despite himself and blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I'm takin' real good care of it, I swear.” 

“Shame the same can't be said for you.” Jesus said, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, can you even chill out for like, five seconds?” 

“I was in that room for _hours_. Least I didn't light one up while I was in there.” Daryl said defiantly. “And I could have, what with you leavin' me rations an' all.” 

“Look, I don't know when the next supply run is happening so the rest are stashed in my room. I was doing you a favour. Saving you from yourself, that's what it was.” Jesus said facetiously, 

“S'fine. I only grab 'em when I can, anyway.” Daryl shrugged, taking a long drag and slouching where he sat, the sudden rush of nicotine making his head spin just a little. “Though I ain't gonna complain if someone finds some out on a run. Looks like you might have to put up with me for a while - that is unless Negan finds out that I'm here.” 

“Gregory hasn't been in or out- I think we're good for now. When they turn up, we can hide you. This place isn't without it's hiding spots.” Jesus nodded, although he had to wonder if by even saying that, he'd jinxed them already. Things had a habit of going horribly wrong, just lately. “This place isn't that bad, you know? Once you get used to it. I mean, we have naked wine and cheese parties, but other than that it's really normal..” 

“Y'know, the fucked up thing is that I wouldn't be surprised.” Daryl said sarcastically. 

“Christ.” Jesus laughed, “I must have given you guys a really bad first impression, huh?” 

“Well. There was the truck-” 

“I said I was sorry about the truck! God damn. You're not going to let me forget that are you?” Jesus raised his hands in frustration, dropping ash onto his shirt in the process. Frowning, he dusted it off onto the floor. 

“Nah.” Daryl smirked. “Well, I might if you do somethin' that stupid again, so keep tryin'.” 

“You're a dick.” Jesus shook his head, chuckling. Daryl was _undoubtedly_ a bit of a dick, but he found himself growing sort of fond of him despite that, which probably wasn't a good thing, Jesus supposed pessimistically. He had rules that he held himself to. It was how he'd managed to survive this far, after all. The very top of the list was not getting attached to people. It wasn't like he didn't have friends at Hilltop. He was friends with Harlan and some of the others, but he was still relatively distant. Not close to people like he had been before. What had happened to the Alexandrians was enough to cement the idea in his mind that getting too close was a terrible idea. That group were close. Like family - and one loss had decimated them all. As far as Jesus was concerned, he'd already lost enough. 

“Y'alright?” Daryl asked after a silence stretched out a little too long and Jesus was staring off somewhere else. 

“Huh?” Jesus started slightly at being caught letting his mind wander and shook his head. “Sorry. I just woke up. Not quite with it yet. Speaking of, have you even slept since we got back?” 

“I got plenty. Stop fussin'.” Daryl muttered curtly, clearing his throat and grimacing slightly at the pull in his ribs. “Don't really sleep much, anyway. Stuff your doctor gave me put me out for a good long while, though.” 

“You need rest.” Jesus insisted. “If you're not getting nagged by me, you're gonna get it from Harlan.” 

“He already gave me the stink-eye for comin' out here. Everyone just needs to leave me be.” He grumbled, not a fan of the attention or being told what to do. He'd had more than enough of that over the past week. “M'gonna be fine.” 

“Look, I hope so, I really do - but if you don't look after yourself, you're not gonna be. People want you to get better, that's all.” Jesus tried to reason with him, and got a sulky fold of the arms in return. “Y'want some tea?” He asked, trying to break the sudden tension. 

“ _Tea_?” Daryl looked at him, amused. “That ain't sweet tea.” 

Jesus shook his head. “It's good tea, though.” 

“Are you an old British lady?” He asked, repeating the word with a smirk. “ _Tea_.” 

Undeterred, Jesus picked up the teapot and poured out a cup before thrusting it in Daryl's direction. 

“Try it.” He nodded. “Seriously.” 

Daryl squinted at him for a moment before begrudgingly taking the drink out of his hands and taking a small, cautious sip. He mulled it over for a couple of seconds before nodding slowly in approval. 

“S'alright.” He shrugged. 

“See?” Jesus said, a little too smugly for Daryl's tastes. “Can I get my cup back? I'll go get you another one.” 

“Nah, m'keepin' this one.” Daryl smirked and took another noisy slurp. 

Rolling his eyes, Jesus got to his feet to go and get another one from inside. 

“Fine. But I've got a cold coming on and you're gonna get it.” He warned, about to head back inside before Daryl stopped him with a tap on the arm. He reached over and grabbed the teapot, offering it towards Jesus. “Y'could always make some more while you're in there.” 

“Fuck! What did your last indentured servant die of?” Jesus rolled his eyes, but still took the teapot. 

“Not doin' as they were told.” Daryl retorted, and Jesus snickered to himself as he headed inside. A slow realisation dawned on him that he rarely talked like that with anyone - save for a select few - and it was kind of nice that there was someone he could joke around with at Hilltop. Not everyone caught his sense of humour, not that it was often out on display, but Jesus seemed to. Denise used to, and he'd stupidly dared to hope that they could end up being good friends, until he'd been dumb enough to take her out of the gates. Life had been so much easier when he wasn't friends with anyone except Merle - and even then, they were barely friends. Brothers, yes. Friends? not so much. At least, he'd realised that with hindsight. The friends he'd met since Merle weren't so quick to belittle him, or kick his ass for not doing as he was told. Not that he hadn't deserved it on several occasions. He kind of wished that Glenn and Michonne had done when they were chasing him around the woods. Maybe then he would have thought about going home - maybe then he wouldn't have had a choice so he couldn't have ultimately made the wrong one. 

Several of the Hilltop people were harvesting crops up against the fence, and Daryl watched them closely for a few moments before lifting his injured arm slowly, trying to figure out if he'd be able to start helping out himself, managing to get it about level with his chest before a pain shot down into his shoulder and down his bicep, severe enough to make him recoil and blurt out several curse words just as Jesus re-emerged with a teapot and another mug in his hands. 

“And hello to you, too.” He joked, until he realised that Daryl was clearly in a lot of discomfort. “What happened?” 

“I was just tryin' to move my arm.” Daryl grumbled, the drip line waving minutely as he illustrated the distance, because he definitely wasn't planning on demonstrating after what had just happened. “From there, to there. Ain't happenin'.” He groaned and rolled his eyes petulantly. “This fuckin' sucks.” 

“I think you're expecting just a little too much. It hasn't even been a week - it's going to suck for a while yet.” Jesus told him bluntly, sitting down and pouring himself a drink “But it'll get better. It'd probably be too early to tell if it did any permanent damage. Not that I'm a doctor, mind you. don't go taking what I say as gospel.” 

“I'd just prefer it if I could keep busy.” Daryl admitted sheepishly. 

“I'll find you something.” Jesus promised, understanding that urge far better than Daryl knew. “Something you can do that'll give you a chance to heal. I can't promise it won't be boring, mind you.” 

“S'fine. I just can't take sittin' in bed all day. It'll drive me crazy.” He explained, almost looking upset by the thought, a vulnerability that caught Jesus by surprise. 

“Don't worry about it, alright? I'll hook you up.” Jesus nodded, taking Daryl's cup and refilling it. 

“Thanks.” He smiled faintly, sitting back and silently willing the healing process to start working a little faster. “Maybe when I'm fixed up I could help with runs or somethin'.” He glanced hopefully in Jesus' direction. 

“Sure! Maybe.” Jesus nodded. He knew there was a pretty good chance of running into Saviors on the road, and what they'd do if they found Daryl out there - but he wasn't about to disappoint him right then by refusing. “Maybe we could fix you up with a disguise.” He hummed thoughtfully. 

“What am I, Batman?” Daryl asked incredulously. 

“Well, right now you're pyjamaman.” He pointed at Daryl's legs and grinned. “Nice threads, by the way.” 

“Asshole.” Daryl shook his head. “Fuckin' _Dwight_. I ain't got shit to begin with, and he's got most of it. Can't even get it back until we're finished doin' what we're doin.” 

“Question is, would you _want_ it back after he's had it so long?” Jesus' nose wrinkled. “I wouldn't.” 

“Well, I ain't fussy like you. S'got my brother's Zippo, too. And my bike. And my crossbow.” Daryl bristled at the thought. He might have been giving Dwight a pass for now, but once the dust was settled, he'd rip his stuff out of his cold dead hands if he had to. “Fuckin' asshole.” 

“I'm not fussy. Dwight just looks like he hasn't had a bath since _before_ everything went to shit, let alone after.” Jesus argued. “But hey. If it's personal, I'll even help you get it back.”

“Thanks.” Daryl mumbled, still managing to be thoroughly awkward around someone being genuinely nice. 

A few moments passed, but the silence was broken by a sudden whistle from the rear side of the building. Daryl immediately tensed, checking either side of him, trying to search out the sound. Confused, Jesus turned to look at him. 

“What's up?” 

“Is that them?” He asked in a flurry, getting to his feet and his breath suddenly coming in short gasps. “I think it's them.” 

“Hey, calm down. I'm sure it's not-” He got up himself, sensing Daryl was about to forget about the drip and take off running. Carefully, he placed a hand on his arm, causing Daryl to flinch minutely just as Kal, one of the guards at Hilltop rounded the corner, whistling - which he soon stopped when he realised two pairs of eyes were glaring at him. 

“Hey?” He said questioningly, raising a hand to wave at Jesus. “Everything alright?” 

“Hi. Yeah... sorry. Thought you were someone else.” Jesus quickly explained, and Daryl shrugged his hand off. He sat back down and looked up at Daryl who still appeared to be weighing up whether to run or not. “You good?” He asked cautiously. 

“Yeah.” He said quickly, visibly embarrassed that something so minor had shaken him in such a way. “I'm- I'm gonna head back in now.” He mumbled, quickly making a dash for the door. 

“Aw, Daryl come o-” Jesus managed to call out before the the heavy wooden door slammed shut. He stared at it for a long moment, considering whether to follow or stay where he was before deciding on the latter. Determined to help, he got up and made for the door.

* * *

In his hurry to get back inside, the drip had snagged on his hand and blood was slowly dying the tape securing it in place a bright shade of red. His chest and ribs stung as he continued to struggle to take a breath, cold sweat pouring down his temples as he caught the eye of a woman who quite frankly looked terrified at the mere sight of him. 

“ _The hell y'starin' at?!_ ” He turned sharply and bellowed at her, causing her to squeak in fright and press herself back against the wall. Daryl snarled as several more people turned to stare and he continued to rush for the bathroom where he'd showered the day before, his legs progressively feeling more and more jelly-like with each step. When he finally reached his destination, he flipped the lock on the door, oblivious to the voice calling his name from the front of the house. With a grimace, he removed the drip from his hand and gripped the edge of the sink as an invisible band tightened itself around his chest. 

“Shit. _Shit_ ” He panted, turning on the taps and throwing water on his face before sinking to the floor, hoping the cool tiles on the back of his head would at least go some way to getting his body back under his control. A small voice rang out from the corner of the room, and it didn't require him looking to know who it was. Glenn stuttered and stammered, just like he had in the clearing, but couldn't quite form the words he was trying to speak. Daryl covered his eyes but he could still see it as clear as the day it happened. Tears leaked out from under his palms and a small, frightened sob rattled in his chest. 

It wasn't that he'd never been scared, but he'd always been able to control it before. He could put himself somewhere else and pretend it wasn't happening, but what Negan had done was indelibly burned into his mind. The fact that he couldn't get a handle on his own spiralling emotions only served to make his state worse, and he sucked in shaky gulps of air that burned his lungs. 

“Daryl?” A small knock and a voice came from the other side of the door. “Hey, you alright in there?” 

“M'fine.” He called out in a much weaker voice than he'd intended, and despite the burning urge to say ' _No. No I'm fucking not._ ' He tried to focus on the throbbing sting in the back of his hand to ground him, watching the door as a sliding sound and a small thump came from the other side. Sniffing, he wiped his face on the back of his other hand and closed his eyes. “..Y'still there?” 

“Yep.” Jesus said, matter-of-fact. “'Cause you sure as hell don't sound it.” 

Daryl's face crumpled slightly and the tears continued to stream down his cheeks no matter how much he tried to brush them off, to the point where his skin was starting to burn. Already in enough discomfort, his hands dropped to his lap and he gave up on stopping them. 

“Look, I know it's not the same.. but I saw what you saw.” Jesus continued, not expecting a reply. “And I know it's kept me up at night more than once - I don't even know what I'd do if it was someone as close to me as Glenn was to you.” He frowned at the strangled noise that filtered under the door. “You should know that nobody is expecting you to be okay with that, alright? Or what happened after. I know I'm not your favourite person in the world - but I'm here if you need anything.” 

Jesus frowned slightly when there was no reply, but he wasn't at all surprised. He was about to get up to leave when he heard the bathroom lock turn. He waited for a second or two, to see if Daryl would emerge. When he didn't, he opened the door slowly and peered around the it to find him still sat beside the sink, head in his hands. Cautiously, he stepped inside and sat down beside him. Emboldened by the fact that he hadn't been unceremoniously kicked out, he placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Look, you're gonna be jumpy for a while. It's nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“I can't go back there. If they find me-”

“We're going to do everything we can to make sure that doesn't happen.” Jesus assured, shifting around slightly to get comfortable. 

“They're not just gonna kill me. They're not gonna let me off that easy..” 

“Hey, I don't know what happened in there, and you sure as hell don't have to tell me, but I give you my word, I will keep you safe.” Jesus said firmly, and despite the doubt, the confidence in his voice filtered through Daryl's panic and he nodded slightly. 

“I just don't get it.” He mumbled, gulping in a sharp breath. Everything he'd endured suddenly tumbling out in a disjointed, panicked flurry. “Why Glenn? I was on the out's, man. He should've-” 

“Because he felt like it.” Jesus said bluntly with a shake of his head. “You have to understand - Negan does what he does because he _can_. Whatever you think he's gonna do, he'll do the exact opposite just to fuck you up, and it _works_. He isn't stupid - there's a good god damn reason he's got so many people following him. It's safer to be with him than against him.” 

Daryl huffed out a sigh, finding himself thankful for the honesty. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve, and Jesus caught a glimpse of a reddened, devastated face from behind a ratty mop of hair that hurt his chest to look at. 

“M'sorry.” Daryl said, “M'bein' an idiot. I mean, Maggie's lost her husband and I'm here whinin' like a bitch-” 

“No, you're _not_.” Jesus said emphatically. “Shit, I'd be more concerned if you were fine after something like this.” 

“I keep seein' him. All the time.” Daryl muttered, tapping a finger against his temple and sounding like he had to physically push the words out. “After Negan hit him, he was.. He was trying to talk and- Shit, man.” He shook his head and buried his face in his hands. 

Jesus winced at the very thought of it. When Negan had beaten Rory to death, the first blow had thankfully been enough to knock the teenager out cold - he just had to hope that he'd had no awareness after that. The thought of someone being conscious enough to realise what was happening to them made him shudder. 

“Sometimes it's like he's right here.” Daryl admitted, his eyes darting to the corner of the room where Glenn had been just moments before. “Feels like I'm goin' nuts.” 

Jesus nodded in understanding. He'd been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. There had been a period before he left the city where he legitimately thought he was losing his mind, just lingering in his old apartment, eating out of date crackers and talking to a ghost. 

“It's the shock.” He explained, turning slightly towards Daryl. “When everything started, I wasn't alone. I was living with someone, Alex. He was working at a bar in the city. One night, he comes home, talking about how it must be a full moon or something. Everyone fighting in the streets, getting real nasty with each other, police everywhere.” He explained, and Daryl relaxed slightly, lifting his head and turning to listen. “He rolls up his sleeve and says 'Can you believe what this bitch did?' and he's got like, a chunk and I _mean_ a chunk out of his arm. Tells me that a drunk grabbed him from behind a dumpster and sunk her teeth into him. I cleaned it and patched it up but he wouldn't let me take him to the hospital. Kept saying the ER was gonna be jammed up.. Little did we know.” Jesus sighed and shrugged his shoulders.“You can probably guess what happened after that. Starts up with a fever, and two days later he was gone. Well, for a while at least.” He swallowed audibly. Jesus had never had to tell the story before, because nobody ever asked and he wasn't about to volunteer it, but it already seemed to have taken Daryl's mind away from his own problems and he supposed for that reason alone, it was worth it. “I had to put him down. He kept these.. these _ridiculous_ ornamental swords that he kept buying off the internet. I told him all the time to quit it but I guess they ended up saving my ass.” His gaze fell to the floor for a moment before looking back towards Daryl. “The reason I'm telling you this, is because I spent a month, maybe a month and a half up in that apartment after I got rid of his body and I saw him _all the time_. Christ, I'd sit there having conversations with him like he wasn't buried a hundred yards away. Your brain does some weird shit after going through something like that.” 

“So, you don't think I'm nuts?” Daryl asked with a slight sniff. 

“Not in the slightest.” Jesus said with a slight smile. “It'll fade, given time. I just don't think you've processed it all yet.” 

“People die all the time. Should be used to it by now.” He frowned, almost scolding himself for being so weak, and in front of another person to boot. It was embarrassing. 

“But they're not always family.” Jesus pointed out, and Daryl made a small attempt at agreement before he crumbled completely, his knees drawing even closer to his chest as a small whimper caught in his throat. At a loss for what to do, but compelled to do _something_ , Jesus wrapped an arm around his shoulder carefully, and instead of the flinch he was expecting, Daryl slumped into the touch, at that point too tired and too fucking miserable to pretend he was anything but. 

Jesus swallowed the lump forming in his own throat and held Daryl as he sobbed helplessly into his shirt, trying to avoid his injuries as he rubbed his back comfortingly. 

“It's gonna be okay.” Jesus said gently, the urge to put an end to Negan once and for all stronger than ever, just so he'd never have to see Daryl or anyone else in that kind of state again. 

“We're gonna put this right, Daryl. I promise.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! 200 kudos! Thanks again for all the encouragement <3

When Jesus warned that his job would probably be boring, he wasn't kidding. Daryl had been put to work on the porch shucking peas to be cooked later, which was the only job going that didn't require two fully functional arms and involve an inordinate amount of running around. Still, it beat the shit out of sitting around doing nothing, and at least he could stay outside. Jesus had left earlier in the day with Kal for supplies, and it was probably a good job that he didn't have a watch nearby or he'd have been checking it constantly. The afternoon was wearing on, and they still hadn't come back. True to form, Daryl had already started considering the worst case scenarios, whether they'd run into walkers on the way back or worse still, Saviors. There was no way of knowing whether they were also on Negan's shit-list or not when they didn't know exactly how much Negan knew about their deal. 

After his meltdown in the bathroom, Jesus had effectively had to put him to bed in a state of utter exhaustion, but once he'd slept again, he got up feeling a lot better. As awkward as it was to end up sobbing on the shoulder of someone he barely knew, it turned out that Carol had been right after all. Letting himself feel it and purging himself of it had helped. He was still grieving, but it felt like it had at least progressed a little, and now that he had a job to do, he could at least distract himself from it. 

“I heard I'd find you out here.” 

Daryl's head snapped up from where he was sitting to find Maggie peering down at him. Immediately, he sprung to his feet. 

“Maggie!” He said, and they hugged each other tightly. “Boy, am I glad to see you.” He leaned back, keeping one hand on her shoulder. She looked better than the last time he'd seen her. A little colour in her cheeks and the rings under her eyes a little less dark. There was a sadness in them that didn't leave though, despite the relieved smile on her face. “Here, sit down.” He shuffled over and dragged the bucket of peas along the wooden floor with his good hand to place in front of him. Maggie sat down and stretched her legs out in front of her, one hand resting on her small bump. “How are you doin'?” 

“Well, I've been better.” She said with a sigh. “But I'm okay. Baby's okay, too.” 

“I'm sorry, Maggie. I wish things had'a turned out different.” He said sadly, still not completely absolving himself of guilt for Glenn's death inwardly. “I wish we could'a done somethin'.” 

“Me too.” She said with watery eyes and a very faint smile. “But I know who's to blame, and he's gonna pay.” 

“You let me know if you need anything, right?” Daryl said with a nod. “Anything.” 

“Thanks, Daryl.” Maggie smiled slightly, reaching out and squeezing his arm affectionately. Peering over, she nodded at the bucket, seemingly eager to change the subject. Daryl couldn't say he blamed her. “You on kitchen duty or what?” 

“Mhm. Bout all I can do at the minute. Least until my arm's better.” Daryl's nose wrinkled, picking up a mug of tea that he'd balanced on the porch railing. “Jesus found me somethin' to do. Was about to go nuts sat in that room the whole time.” 

“Yeah, I know that feelin'. Only started feelin' well enough to get around last night. Doctor says the antibiotics are doin' their job now.” She sighed, wriggling around to ease the ache in her back. “What's that you're drinkin'?” 

“Tea.” 

“Tea like.. out of a teapot tea?” She raised an eyebrow and peered over at the small porcelain pot on the floor. 

“Jesus got me on it. S'kinda nice.” Daryl shrugged. 

“Well, there's some progress.” Maggie smirked, “What was it you called him? ' _Kung-fu fightin' prick'_?” Daryl snorted at the nickname and shook his head. 

“He still is!” Daryl said, picking up a knife and carrying on with his work. “But he got my ass outta that crapshoot just in time - he can't be all that bad.” 

“Y'all know where it is, now? The 'crapshoot'?” Maggie asked, a little spark of anger in her eyes. 

“Well Jesus, Abe and Eugene probably know better than me. I was kind of out of it on the way there, and on the way back.” He explained. “But yeah. We know where it is.” 

“Good.” Maggie said with a steely glare and a nod. “S'gonna be useful later.” 

“Look, Maggie.. I don't wanna talk outta turn here but I don't think we oughta be makin' any moves just yet. Not until we're all fixed up.” He frowned, digging the point of his knife into the pod in order to flick out a particularly stubborn pea. “I went after 'em 'cause I was angry, and that didn't do none of us no good. I get why you wanna, believe me - but we need to lull 'em into a false sense of security before we do shit. Have Negan think we're gonna be good little kiss-asses and then _bam_. When he's not expecting it, y'know?” 

“Mm.” She nodded. “Ain't gonna be easy. Pretendin' that I'm not gonna tear that bastard apart.” 

“Oh trust me, when we make a move - you're gonna be first in line to take a swing. We'll make sure of that.” Daryl said, and they shared a small, knowing smile. There was no way to get back what they'd lost. What they'd had _taken_ from them, but the thought of finally getting to tear the smirk off of Negan's face was just enough to keep them going at least for now. 

The conversation was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the gates being opened and the truck Jesus and Kal had taken out with them rolled through and parked up on the yard. Daryl ignored the slight twinge of relief in his chest and he squinted over at them as they both climbed out of the vehicle and immediately began unloading boxes of supplies. A small line of Hilltop residents formed from inside to help carry several boxes and bags through the side door and into the kitchen to be packed away. Once he'd supervised, Jesus spotted Daryl and Maggie and jogged over to where they were sat, pulling his gloves off and stuffing them in his pocket. 

“You slacking off there, Dixon?” He smirked, before turning to Maggie. “Good to see you up, Maggie. You're looking better.” 

“Hey, Jesus.” She said, gesturing over her shoulder at Daryl. “It's my fault, he was hard at it until I turned up and started talking his ear off.” 

“Well, I guess I can let it slide this time.” Jesus grinned, taking a rucksack off his shoulder and removing his jacket before sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Hey, Daryl. I got you some stuff.” 

“Huh?” Daryl looked up at him in confusion. He hadn't given Jesus a shopping list, so he couldn't imagine what on earth he'd brought back for him. Putting the knife down, he watched Jesus curiously as he rummaged through the bag, as though he was figuring out what to give him first. 

“Okay, so.. I couldn't exactly come after you with a tape measure, so I had to guess. I got you these, first off.” He held out a bundle of clothes towards him - a pair of jeans, boxers, a few dark coloured t-shirts and a pack of socks. Daryl looked confused for a moment before taking them from him, looking a little lost for words. “And.. this kinda looked like something you had on before, so-” He held out a black jacket that looked like it was made from a heavy, denim type material and, as he'd said, it was pretty similar to one that he'd had before he lost all of his stuff. “If they don't fit, I'll try again next time.”

“Damn, you didn't have to do this.” Daryl said, looking at the pile of clothing. Being brought gifts was _weird_. “Thanks, though. S'real good of you.” He nodded appreciatively, wondering why in the hell his face was starting to burn. 

“I really did. You can't walk around in someone else's pyjamas forever.” Jesus joked before suddenly remembering something else.“Oh! And-” Jesus reached into his bag that was apparently the same size internally as Mary Poppins', and produced several cartons of cigarettes with a _Ta-Da_! 

“You know what, I'm gonna stop bringing up the truck about half as much.” Daryl grinned crookedly. “Thanks, Jesus.” 

“You're welcome!” He smiled brightly, and got back to his feet, placing one of the cartons next to Daryl and hooking the bag back over his shoulder. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go change. Had a run-in with some of the dead. They were... leaky.” 

Daryl and Maggie grimaced in unison and Jesus took his leave to get his clothing in the wash before they stank out the whole place. Once he was gone, Maggie turned to Daryl with raised eyebrows. 

“What?” Daryl shrugged, looking around awkwardly. 

“He brought you presents.” Maggie pointed out, eyes wide. 

“He brought me shit that I needed.” He corrected her, unfolding one of the t-shirts and nodding approvingly. 

“That's the best kinda present!” Maggie raised her hands. “I think he likes you.” 

“I think he likes everyone. Fuckin' hippy.” Daryl grumbled, although deep down he was really quite pleased with the haul, and that Jesus had thought of him while he was out - although he had to wonder how much time Jesus had spent sizing him up considering that they all looked like they'd fit perfectly well. 

“I think he likes you the best.” She corrected herself, leaning over to look at the clothes herself. “I don't see him bringin' anyone else a new wardrobe.” Which, although it was only a few items, for Daryl it pretty much was. He hummed cynically and put the items down on the bench beside him. 

“Are you ever gonna go back? To Alexandria, I mean.” Daryl asked, turning to look at Maggie. 

“Wow, you are a master of changing the subject, ain'tcha?” Maggie shook her head and sighed. “Right now? I don't think so. Jesus said I'm welcome to stay as long as I want. Even said it would be fine if Enid came, too. I'm sure she's fine over there but - I feel like I'm abandoning her by not going back. She got settled in with me and Glenn.” 

“I get it.” Daryl said with an understanding nod. “I thought I wanted to go back, once everything is over. Now, I'm not so sure.” 

“How so?” Maggie asked, eyebrows knotting. “I thought you liked the place.”

“It was alright. Never really felt like home though. I mean, Carol's gone, and 'cept Aaron and his fella, and Denise - I always got the feelin' those people didn't much like havin' me around.” He shook his head. “I was sleepin' in the spare room at Rick and Michonne's. Kinda just a lodger, really.” 

“They're your family.” Maggie corrected him. “We all are. Ain't nothin' changed.” 

“I know.” Daryl looked thoughtful, his fingers twitching slightly as he glanced at the cigarettes, though he opted to hold off on taking a smoke break until Maggie was safely out of the way. “It'd just be nice to fit in somewhere for once. Even the people here look at me like I've got two heads.” 

“I think you should find somethin' that makes you happy, and go with that.” She advised with a small shrug of her shoulders. “Whatever or whoever that might be.” 

“I guess.” Daryl nodded in agreement, “See what happens, huh?” 

“It's all any of us can do.” Maggie smiled. “And when you see it, you grab it. 'Cause I'm telling you, it don't come around all that often.” Her smile was genuine but laced with pain, and Daryl's breath caught in his throat at the words laden with the burden of past experience. With that, Maggie rose to her feet and leaned over, planting a kiss on the top of Daryl's head. “I'm gonna go get somethin' to drink.” She gestured towards the teapot. “Need a refill?” 

“You sure?” Daryl asked, before leaning down to pick it up. “I could go-” 

“ _Daryl_.” She rolled her eyes and took the pot out of his hands. “I'm pregnant, I'm not an invalid.” 

“Alright, alright.” He raised his hands with a quiet chuckle. “I'm not gonna be the one to piss off the pregnant lady. I know that shit never ends well.” 

“You're damn right.” Maggie said proudly, and headed back inside.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilltop have a movie night and Daryl is cordially invited.

“Y'wanna come to movie night?”

“Ah?” Daryl turned around from the dishes he insisted on washing and raised an eyebrow, soap suds dripping off his hands and onto the floor. “What movie night?”

“We got a TV and an old VCR hooked up. Once a week, some of us hang out in the big room at the back and watch a movie. I mean, the selection isn't great - videos weren't all that easy to find _before_ the shit hit the fan - and we've watched Titanic about three times already but it's kind of tradition at this point.” Jesus hopped up on the counter, the heels of his boots kicking the cupboard doors below it. “Whaddya think. You up for it?”

Jesus had been making a concerted effort over the week to make sure Daryl felt as at home as possible whilst he was recuperating at Hilltop, and Jesus thought he did appreciate it, in his own curmudgeonly sort of way. He'd even go as far as to say they'd actually made friends at that point, which had been an unlikely side effect of Negan storming in to fuck everyone's lives up.

“Will there be booze?” Daryl asked, placing a plate on the drainer. “Because I'm gon' need it if you're watching Titanic.”

“You're still on antibiotics.” Jesus pointed out, sliding back to the floor and picking up a towel, drying the dishes that had already been washed.

“Wasn't what I asked.” Daryl grumbled, putting a cup on the drainer a little heavier handed than he needed to. Jesus smirked slightly at the sulkiness.“Doc says I only need 'em for a few more days, anyway.”

“And in a couple of days you'll be able to have a drink. I swear.” Jesus reasoned, glancing at the piles of washing up on the counter. “You know, you didn't have to offer to do all this. I mean, I wouldn't. I _hate_ doing the dishes. I've been known to bribe people to get out of doing the dishes.”

“Somethin' to do.” Daryl shrugged, and Jesus nodded understandingly.

“How are you doing?” Jesus asked. It was a simple question but Daryl knew by his tone the way it was meant. He'd asked him a few times since the incident in the bathroom and despite his urge to lie, he found himself being honest. Brief, but honest. That certainly wasn't something he'd have expected when he was trying to chase the little shit through a field.

“Fine.” He shrugged, and he could see Jesus' expression without even looking. “Really.” He looked over his shoulder to find the exact unconvinced face he was expecting to find staring back at him. “I'm still.. I don't know. Dealing with it, I guess, but it's getting better. Arm's movin' a little more too, so that's good.” That seemed to satisfy Jesus, who nodded and went back to dish drying duty.

“What movie y'watchin'?” Daryl asked, pulling another stack of dishes towards the sink.

“Ghostbusters.” Jesus said with a chuckle. “Nothing too heavy going. And not Titanic.”

“Thank fuck for that.” Daryl smirked, and he thought for a moment before shrugging. “Alright, I'm in.”

“Awesome.” Jesus grinned, before realising he sounded a little too pleased and toning it down just a little before he continued. “D'you want me to take over? You could get a smoke break before we start.”

“Thought you hated doin' dishes?” Daryl asked over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at Jesus.

“Well, if you're gonna turn me down..” He said, jokingly throwing his dish-towel on the counter and turning to leave.

“Naw, naw..” Daryl called out, drying his hands on the discarded towel. “Y'can finish 'em off. Y'know, seein' as I did most of 'em anyway.”

“You better get the hell outta here before I change my mind.” He smirked, taking over the cleaning.

“I'll save you one.” Daryl said as he left, shaking the cigarette packet as he went.

“Yeah I appreciate it, buddy.” Jesus called sarcastically after him with a smirk on his face.

 

* * *

 

Daryl didn't make it as far as Mr. Stay Puft's rampage through New York City, falling asleep about an hour into the movie having gotten much too comfortable on the large, red sofa that was in the room commandeered by the group's movie night. He'd started off sitting upright but gradually sank further into the cushions and began a slow sideways slump until the side of his face was squished up against the top of Jesus' arm, who made no effort to move him until the credits started rolling. Kal, who had been on the other end of the couch, got to his feet and started gathering up the cushions and beanbags they'd used so Gregory wouldn't appear in the morning and complain incessantly about the mess they made, like he _ever_ bothered to clean up after himself.

“Looks like you made a friend, huh?” He nodded at Daryl, then looked at Jesus with a slight smirk.

“Poor thing. Guess Ghostbusters was too much excitement for him.” He joked, “I am gonna have to move him, though. His head's like a god damn lead weight.”

“You, uh, stoppin' by later?” Kal enquired in a way that sounded casual, but absolutely wasn't. He gave Jesus a pointed look as he stacked a pile of cushions in the corner of the room.

“Why? You miss me?” Jesus asked with a raised eyebrow and a devilish grin.

“You know it ain't like that.” Kal said bashfully, scratching the back of his head. He'd be a terrible poker player, Jesus surmised. “So?”

“Give me half an hour. I might pop by.” Jesus said mischievously. Kal nodded and shot him a wry grin before heading out.

It wasn't anything serious, of course it wasn't - that was out of the question. Given the circumstances however, he didn't think either of them could be blamed for seeking comfort from another warm, willing body at a time like this. It happened once after Kal had brewed up some frankly dangerous moonshine, and incidentally that was the same time that Jesus had vowed never to drink moonshine ever again after waking up in Kal's bed with a murderous headache and promptly vomiting in his waste paper bin. He had thought that would be enough to put paid to any kind of shenanigans but then it happened sober, not long after Rory, and then it sort of became a habit. It had been weeks since Kal had made any hints - because he could never flat out _ask_ \- so the question had sort of taken him off-guard. He didn't know why, but for the first time a strange feeling nagged him, like maybe he should refuse, like he'd be doing something wrong if he were to accept. He shook it off quickly, his rational side reminding him that really, nothing had changed since the last time. Sure, he'd been tasked with taking care of Daryl, but that was all. Sure, he might have let himself think about what it would be like if it _was_ more than that. Hell, he had a pair of eyes in his head and he'd be lying if he said he didn't find himself more drawn towards Daryl the longer he spent with him, but Jesus was confident in his knack for picking up vibes, and he was almost certain there were none in that particular department. Besides, casual sex was one thing but the thought of getting involved with anyone again filled him with fear. It probably always would, after Alex.

“Hey, come on.” Jesus said, carefully nudging Daryl with his arm. Groaning, Daryl simply rolled over and slumped to the other side. “You can't sleep there.”

“Fuckin' watch me.” Came the disgruntled reply. Rolling his eyes, Jesus got to his feet and his seat was almost immediately taken up by Daryl's legs. Figuring he wasn't doing any harm where he was, he gathered up a couple of cushions and a throw blanket from the back of one of the armchairs in the grand looking sitting room.

“Here,” Jesus said, tugging Daryl up by his shirt just long enough to place the cushions behind his head, and got an appreciative grunt in response. Chuckling to himself, he placed the blanket over the sleeping man and shook his head. God help him if it wasn't _almost_ kind of cute. “You sure you're going to be okay there?”

“Mhm.” Daryl mumbled sleepily, his eyes still stubbornly refusing to open. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Jesus said, pinching two cigarettes from the pack sitting on the arm of the chair and leaving the room, turning the lights off behind him and shooting a last, slightly hesitant look over his shoulder before making his way to Kal's room.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was still dark when Daryl woke up, a little disorientated in the unfamiliar room. It was the kind of awakening where he had no hope of getting back to sleep, even though he valiantly tried to for ten, frustrating minutes. Grumbling, he threw off the blanket that was covering him and headed for his room in the infirmary to retrieve the jacket that Jesus had found for him. He straightened the collar and tugged at the hems, pretty impressed that it fit as well as it did. It made him feel slightly less vulnerable than he did hanging around in pyjamas. It even made him miss his own jacket and vest a little less - but not by much. Heading for the front door, he paused as Kal suddenly appeared from a room to his left.

“Oh! Hey!” He said cheerfully, genuinely surprised to see him. “You are up _early_ , man. It's only like five.”

Daryl shrugged. “You on watch?”

“Yeah, yeah. Speaking of, I better get out there or Ed's gonna kick my ass.” He smiled, nudging Daryl's arm in a friendly manner, a gesture which made him immediately tense and dodge away from it before he could even stop himself.

“Shit.. I'm..” Kal looked mortified. “Sorry. I forgot you're still pretty banged up..”

“S'fine.” Daryl's eyes lowered, clearly embarrassed by the reaction. “Forget about it.”

“Oh- Okay.” Kal nodded, letting out a sigh of relief when the worry he was about to get punched had passed. “You, uh, look after yourself, huh?” He nodded, before rushing outside as quickly as possible.

Daryl was about to head outside himself when the door swung open again and Jesus emerged from the same room as Kal, straightening his shirt and looking even more surprised to see him than Kal had.

“Daryl!” He gasped, far higher than he'd intended and looking very much like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You're awake!”

“Yeaaaah...” Daryl said slowly, his face a picture of amusement at the sight of Jesus' apparent fright. “Y'alright there?”

“Uh..” Jesus glanced at the door, then back to him. “Yeah! Did you just- just run into Kal?”

“Mmhm.” Daryl nodded slowly, maybe enjoying seeing Jesus squirm just a _little_. It was actually pretty funny to see him not being his usual, unflappable self.

“Cool! That's-”

“Y'wanna smoke?” Daryl asked with a slight chuckle, deciding to stop prolonging the agony as Jesus' cheeks started reddening.

“Oh, _shit_ yes.” Jesus breathed out in a rush and let Daryl lead the way as he followed him outside. Daryl tugged his jacket closed at the bitter breeze that rushed past him and dropped gracelessly to sit on the front steps, stomping his boots into the grass with a thump. He quickly lit two cigarettes and offered one to Jesus who gratefully took it, immediately sucking in a long lungful of smoke to try and recover from the sudden fit of anxiety that had struck him the second he ran into Daryl. There were far better ways for him to find out about that, and there was always the fear of how he would react. The thought of Daryl thinking less of him filled him with more worry than it probably should have.

“Y'know I don't give a shit, right?” Daryl finally said, turning around far enough to see Jesus, perched on the arm of the porch bench. “If you an' him are.. y'know.”

The words came out but he could almost taste the insincerity - not because Jesus was gay, of course, but that the sudden discovery of the relationship _had_ bothered him a little, and he had no idea why. Or he at least had an idea, but thought _fuck_ trying to open that particular door right then. It was far too early in the morning.

“Well, that's good to know.” Jesus nodded, not actually expecting Daryl to bring it up first, or maybe at all. “I'd have preferred it if you'd found out in a different way, though.”

“Why? I ain'tcher husband.” Daryl said. The words sounded a little bitter to his own ears, and he knew damn well he could have come up with something more appropriate than _husband_. Hoping Jesus hadn't caught it, he continued, forcing a little levity into his voice. “Seriously, man. Don't worry about it. I mean shit, most'a the people I managed to make friends with Alexandria outside the people I turned up with were gay.” He paused, a look of realisation rolling over his face. “That's the first time I really thought 'bout that. Shit, told me that would'a happened a few years back an' I would'a laughed my ass off.”

“How so?” Jesus asked, intrigued. He had caught the slight pointedness in Daryl's tone but the thought passed as he continued chatting away, convincing himself that his own defensiveness was making him hear things that weren't there. He stood up and walked over to sit on the steps, remembering that it was still early morning and that nobody else really needed to hear their conversation.

“Well, where me an' my brother were from, the people we used to run with - we didn't know no gay people. Well, I mean, we prob'ly did, but they weren't exactly shoutin' it from the rooftops, y'know?” Jesus nodded in understanding and flicked ash onto the floor. “It just.. wasn't the done thing, I guess.” He shrugged, though it was much, much worse than that. When he was about fifteen, he'd watched Merle, drunk off his ass, beating the shit out of some kid for looking at him the wrong way. The memory made him shudder. “'The south for you, I guess.” He mumbled, as if that was some kind of excuse - though he knew it wasn't.

“I get it.” Jesus said with a slight smile. “I was pretty lucky, how I grew up. Definitely the exception rather than the rule. The way things are now... It's kind of freeing, in a way. I have rarely met someone who had a problem with me because of it since everything happened. Kinda depressing that it took something like this to make people finally realise that who people want to be with really doesn't matter, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Yeah.” Daryl said with a slight nod and a distant look in his eyes.

“You okay?” Jesus frowned a little, and he snapped out of his pensiveness almost immediately.

“Yeah!” He repeated, with more enthusiasm. “Just thinkin', I guess.”

“About what?”

“Just how shit changes. S'like.. in some ways, this whole thing-” He hesitated. “See, if I say it, it sounds like I'm bein' an asshole when I'm not-”

“Just say it.” Jesus advised with a chuckle. “Look, I'm not easily shocked, believe me.”

“The walkers. This whole situation. Some really shitty things have happened since, sure, but the way it all came about - it wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“Really?” Jesus asked, sounding surprised. “Forgive me if this sounds like I'm being insensitive but - how shitty was it _before_?”

Daryl had to laugh at Jesus' response and he shook his head. “Jeez, don't quit your job to become a therapist, will you?” He smirked, though it was a fair question. “I guess the way we were brought up didn't help.” He said, quickly glossing over the whole, horror-filled history of his parents - he didn't want Jesus to think he was in any way looking for sympathy. “Really, I was a shitty person, you know? Just rollin' around with my brother, stealing shit, fightin', doing drugs, dealin' 'em, gettin' into some real shady shit. If you'da met me back then, you would'a hated me and I prob'ly would have hated you right back.” He sighed. “Bein' with Rick and the rest of 'em, that was the first time I ever really felt like I was part of a real family. First time I didn't feel like a worthless asshole. That I didn't have to keep _bein'_ a worthless asshole.” Just for a moment, he looked desperately sad as the realisation dawned on him that his found family would never not be fractured again. “Man, I wish I never heard the name 'Negan', I'll tell you that much.”

“You and me both.” Jesus said, placing a hand on Daryl's shoulder, surreptitiously checking the watch post to see which direction Kal was looking, even though he knew full well that he wasn't doing anything wrong. “Look, call me an optimist, but one day I think things are gonna go back to normal.”

“Y'think?” Daryl scoffed cynically. “'Cause I sorta feel like Negan's gonna pick us off one by one until the only people left are the ones too scared to fight.”

“Well I don't know about you, but as long as I'm intact, I'm gonna do my best to make damn sure that shit doesn't happen, and no pressure or anything - I kinda need you on my team.”

“Ya don't need me.” He scoffed, chuckling a little at the idea.

“You know, I think I kinda do.” Jesus replied quietly, and Daryl didn't clock the small look of realisation on his face as he said it, his obliviousness working in Jesus' favour as the thought that he might have meant something other than with regards to fight against Negan passed him by. Snapping out of his thoughts with a slight shake of the head, Jesus got up suddenly and gestured towards the door. “Coffee?”

“Oh, _shit_ yes.” He parroted Jesus' words from earlier, stubbing his cigarette out on his boot and rising to his feet with a slight groan, stretching the arm he could still hold above his head and letting his shoulder joint crack satisfyingly. “Better make it a double.”

“A double _coffee_?” Jesus asked, holding the door open.

“Y'heard me.” He grumbled jokingly.

“You're going to have to calm the fuck down.” Jesus grinned. “This rock n'roll lifestyle is gonna be the death of us.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WELL THIS TOOK A WHILE. you know when you know something that's going to happen like two chapters ahead and you can't stop thinking about that and can't write the bit inbetween now and then? that. that's what happened. 
> 
> THIS CHAPTER: The Alexandrians show up to party and everyone knows what's up except for Daryl and Jesus.... Except they do, really. How's that for a cryptic preface, huh?

The days rolled into weeks and eventually, Daryl found himself settling into a routine of mundanity at Hilltop, slowly becoming the settlement's resident handy-man as he regained the full use of his hands, fixing broken hot-plates, tinkering with the cars that the people had written off as broken and getting a small sense of satisfaction when an engine sparked back into life. He wasn't able to go out for supplies, Jesus still insisted that it was too dangerous, but it was also Jesus who would happily go fifty miles out for a part, if Daryl asked him nicely enough. Despite going with Kal, and knowing that both could look after themselves, Daryl found himself a little on edge each time they were gone longer than a day, a small nagging voice in his head that reminded him that each time those gates closed could be the last time he'd see his friend - and he did consider Jesus to be one at that point - when he'd already lost more than enough of them. He pretended not to notice how much closer Jesus and Kal seemed to be after every trip, and the strange feeling he got in the pit of his stomach whenever he'd see Kal drape an arm over his shoulder, or the surreptitious little glances they'd share when they were relaxing together.

The Saviors' visits had, so far, gone off without a hitch. Jesus had unveiled his foolproof hiding spot with a flourish to a bemused Maggie and Daryl about a week before they were due to visit. On the third floor, there was an inconspicuous hatch in the ceiling that led to the clock tower on the roof of the building. It was cramped, but there was enough room for the two of them to sit in relative comfort and safety until the Saviors took what they wanted and left. Jesus kept a close eye on Gregory and hadn't seen him talking with any of them. In actual fact, he generally chose to hide in his quarters until they'd gone, leaving everyone else to put up with the assholes swaggering around their home intimidating anyone they felt like.

Daryl's favourite times though, were when some of the crew from Alexandria came to visit. Though they often included people he didn't know, Rick had always made sure that the convoy contained at least a couple of friendly faces. Sometimes Rick himself along with Michonne, Carl and Judith, neither of whom ever seemed to stop growing. The third week, Abe and Eugene arrived along with Sasha, Tara, Eric and Aaron, a self-described 'Party Mission' with the truck not only stacked with ammo from Eugene's secret ammunition factory, which was now reportedly going gangbusters and had so far gone undiscovered, but also with several crates of booze from a warehouse they'd looted the week before. It wasn't all good news, though, as Jesus was tasked with finding yet more weapons to store at a designated cache between the two settlements whilst on scavenging trips, after Negan's crew had arrived at Alexandria and stripped them of every last one of their guns, which of course meant more trips away and even more time away from Hilltop which didn't sit well with Daryl. The visit however, had gone a little way to lifting his spirits whilst confined to the settlement's walls.

The night before they left, the Alexandria group along with Daryl, Jesus and Kal had all dragged chairs out into the garden and armed themselves with a crate of wine bottles with the intent of having a civilised evening. That lasted all of about half an hour, by which point Abe had broken out the Scotch, congratulated by Daryl for providing a 'real' drink. Even Maggie stayed out with them for a while until she tired herself out, though opting for water instead of booze despite being sorely tempted. More than anything, Daryl was just pleased to see her surrounded by friends and relaxing for a change. Once she was out of bed, she kept herself busy - a little too busy for his liking, but it helped her get through the day, so he supposed it couldn't be a bad thing.

As the evening wore on, their numbers dwindled until only the most determined drinkers remained. Tara, Aaron, Eric, Kal, Jesus and Daryl all stayed up, throwing sticks on the fire every so often to keep it alight enough to provide some warmth. Abe was led away to bed by Sasha, though he insisted he could go another couple of rounds until he was wisely reminded that he had a truck to drive in the morning.

“So, now it's just us.” Tara grinned, reaching over and nudging Daryl, who shot her a withering look. “You got any Hilltop gossip for us? I feel like we've just been talking about home all night.”

“Y'kiddin' me?” Daryl smirked up at her from where he was slouched in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, and the hood from a zip-up sweater he was wearing under his jacket pulled over his head - another one of Jesus' gifts that he brought back from a trip, insistent that Daryl needed more than four items of clothing, for hygene reasons if nothing else. “Ain't nothin' goin' on 'round here. S'like a retirement home.”

“Oh come _on_ ” Tara chuckled, rolling her eyes.

“He's not wrong.” Jesus chimed in, lifting a wine bottle and peering into it before emptying half of it's contents into a glass. “I mean, we could make some shit up if you really wanted.”

“Yes!” She enthused, pouring herself another drink and wriggling around in her seat to get comfortable and rearranging the blanket she had over her knees. “And... go!”

“I think Mrs. Abernathy has a crush on Daryl.” Jesus nodded at him, and Daryl gave him the finger. “She thinks he's just _dreamy_.”

“She's also about eighty. Ain't her husband still alive?” Daryl scoffed, nursing the remains of Abe's whiskey bottle that he'd generously donated.

“I've seen the way she looks at you, man.” Jesus continued, resting his chin on his hands and batting his eyelashes, sighing jokingly. “There's a reason she's got so much broken stuff.”

“I fixed her toaster one time-” Daryl muttered, rolling his eyes and flicking a screwed up wine label in Jesus' direction, missing it's target by a good few feet.

“Is that a euphemism?” Jesus raised an eyebrow, and Daryl covered his face with his hands and groaned

“You've been havin' a secret affair!” Tara joined in. “Daryl, you _dog_.”

“All o'ya can fuck off.” He mumbled, offering both middle fingers this time to a chorus of amused laughter.

“Well,” Kal cut through the noise, getting to his feet. “I think I'm done for the night.” He raised a hand at everyone else, reaching down to squeeze Jesus' shoulder before he left. “See y'all later.”

Jesus took the gesture as a hint, but didn't much feel like leaving the party just yet. He refilled his glass and pulled Kal's chair around so he could put his feet up on it. Tara watched Kal go until he disappeared into the house and leaned forward conspiratorially.

“What's goin' on there?”

“God damn, do you ever quit?” Daryl piped up grumpily, not really wanting to hear any more details than he already knew. Though, he could understand the reasons Tara might have for keeping herself distracted, so didn't complain all that much.

“Not a whole hell of a lot.” Jesus shrugged non-commitally, casting an unnoticed glance in Daryl's direction.

“What, so it's an FWB type situation, or-” Tara pressed on, at that point opting to drink her wine straight from the bottle - it wasn't like they were running short. The hood over Daryl's head was just enough to mask the rolling of his eyes.

“Something like that.” Jesus agreed sheepishly, but the 'B' had been happening more often just lately and he could tell that Kal was getting attached. He, on the other hand, wasn't so comfortable with the idea. Mostly because of Alex. _Mostly_. Yet, he still found himself knocking on his door in the middle of the night, seeking welcome distraction from everything and everyone else around him.

“I think you're cute together.” Tara nodded, her words slurring a little as she spoke. “Y'should get that shit on _lock_.”

Aaron and Eric cackled, and Jesus chuckled despite himself, shaking his head.

“Maybe I'll do that.” He smirked, humouring her more than anything else. Tara winked and made finger guns at him, which he returned enthusiastically. In the midst of all the joking around, nobody really noticed the pensive look on Daryl's face as he quickly threw back a shot of Whiskey, grateful for the burn it left in his throat and the fact that he could finally have a drink now that he wasn't having to throw all sorts of pills down his neck. He was removed from his thoughts by Tara declaring something unintelligable before getting to her feet and rushing for the fence where she promptly bent over and threw up into the long grass.

“You good?” Daryl called over, and she took a couple of deep breaths before holding her thumb up in the air. Jesus snorted and got to his feet.

“I'll get her some water and make sure she gets to bed.” He offered, “I was about to head in, anyway.” Picking up his drink, he said goodnight to Eric and Aaron before looking over at Daryl, who was back to ensuring that he had an empty bottle before the end of the night. “See you tomorrow, Daryl.”

“Later.” He said, without looking at him. With a small sigh, Jesus left the circle to help guide Tara back into the house. When his back was turned, Daryl watched him all the way across the yard until he'd closed the door behind him, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Oh, now what was _that_ all about?” Eric suddenly asked, and Aaron rolled his eyes.

“ _Eric_.” He said warningly.

“Sssh. Shh.” Eric placed a finger clumsily on Aaron's lips and blinked slowly, mumbling around his wine glass.“I'm just askin' a question.”

“Please don't..” Aaron protested exasperatedly, like a man who had been in this situation many times before.

“What was what?” Daryl asked, turning in his seat and throwing his legs over the arms so that he was facing the couple, now that they were the only ones left.

“You pretending you're couldn't give a shit about Jesus and then givin' him moon-eyes when you think he's not lookin'. I saw. I'm very observant.” He beamed proudly, and Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing at his boyfriends' interrogation.

“Yeah, you are.” He agreed, patting Eric on the shoulder playfully.

“I was keepin' an eye on Tara.” Daryl shrugged, a cigarette now perched between his teeth. Aaron's eyes widened. “An' you're drunk off your ass.”

“No shit. You _were_ watching him, weren't you?” He was leaning forward now, and Daryl shrank back slightly in his seat. “You're really awful at lying. Just so you know.”

“I don't know what the fuck y'talkin' 'bout.” Daryl's nose wrinkled, acting far too incredulous for either of the others to believe him.

“ _Daryl_.” Eric tilted his head forward, one pair of thick-rimmed glasses away from looking like an unimpressed librarian.

“I wasn't lookin' at nobody for nothin'. Can ya quit it?” Daryl pleaded, coughing slightly when a little smoke caught in the back of his throat. “Ain't drunk people around camp-fires s'posed to get out a guitar, get high and start singin' Willie Nelson instead'a playin' twenty questions?!”

“You _really_ don't think much of his, uh, _'friend'_ , though.” Aaron pointed out. “Even I noticed the daggers you were givin' that guy.”

“I ain't givin' nobody daggers!” Daryl cried exasperatedly, taking another much needed drink. “I don't give a shit about 'im. Don't even know 'im.”

If he was being honest with himself, Daryl knew there was something different in the way he felt about Jesus if he let himself actually think about it. He found it hard to get on with Kal, even though the guy had been nothing but pleasant since the day he met him. If he really, _really_ let himself think about it, There was only one other time he'd felt the same way about someone. It was a long time ago and he'd crushed it before it could even start, out of fear. Just like now. It was terrifying enough having to admit even that much to himself, let alone anybody else. Daryl shook himself out of it and drank some more, because it sure as shit beat the hell out of thinking.

“Hey.” Aaron said, waving a hand at Daryl. “Still with us?”

“Yeah.” He looked up and nodded. “Jus' tired.”

“If something's bothering you-”

“I just gotta say. Yeah, yeah.” Daryl huffed, frowning at the now-empty whiskey bottle and immediately reaching down for the half-drunk bottle of wine that he knew was on the floor next to him somewhere. Finally putting his hands on it, he quickly inspected it in case any bugs had crawled into it and knocked back a slug when he was satisfied there was at least none that he could see.

“Eesh. Grape and grain.” Eric winced. “You're gonna regret that in the morning.”

Daryl shrugged and grimaced a little at the flavour. It wasn't the nicest thing he'd ever drunk but it certainly wasn't the worst - and definitely not unpleasant enough for him to stop drinking it.

“How d'you guys do it?” Daryl asked suddenly, and he took the two slightly puzzled and aghast expressions he got in response to mean that he needed to elaborate further. “Not like that, assholes! _Christ_..” He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, a nagging voice in his head telling him to just _stop talking_ but he continued regardless. “I mean.. You both know the deal, right? One of you could head out one day and not come back. You could run into someone like Negan and-” He sighed and idly picked at the label on his bottle. “And you still got together, even though you know how much of a risk it is. What made you.. like-”

“Decide it was worth it?” Eric helpfully finished the question, and Daryl nodded.

“If you're just fighting to exist then what kind of life is that?” Aaron asked plainly, and Daryl had to admit that he had a good point. “You need to find things that are worth living for. Sometimes it's family and friends, but sometimes it's something else, you know?”

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded, but understanding what he was being told and acting on it were two different things. Whenever he got brave about it in his mind, he remembered what happened to Glenn and Maggie, what happened when it all got ripped away. Suddenly, he didn't much feel like socialising any more. He didn't really know what he felt like doing, but the more he drank the more he felt like he was about to say something he'd live to regret and once the genie was out of the bottle, there was no putting it back in. Slowly, he eased himself out of the chair and stretched his arms, offering the remains of the bottle of wine to Eric. “I think I'm gonna tap out.” He explained, “I'll see you before you go, right?”

“Well we're not gonna leave without saying goodbye, obviously.” Eric scoffed, picking up a stick and poking at the few remaining glowing embers of the fire.

“You should say something.” Aaron said sagely, looking up at Daryl with one of his infamous knowing faces. “Y'know. If there's anything to say.”

“Maybe there ain't.” He shrugged a little, and Aaron nodded understandingly. “'Night.” Daryl mumbled before meandering unsteadily back to the house. Aaron turned back to his boyfriend once he'd gone and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you think?”

“I think they need to get the fuck on with it.” Eric said plainly, and punctuated it by draining his glass.

Aaron laughed, and leaning forwards, he put his hand on the back of Eric's neck and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you.”

“See? It's really not that hard!” He giggled, tilting his head up to kiss Aaron playfully on the lips. “I love you too. Which is a good thing 'cause I'm probably gonna need you to carry me up the stairs.”

 

* * *

 

“You're a good guy, Jesus.” Tara hummed, her legs hanging over the side of the bed and wriggling her toes as Jesus pulled off her sneakers, lining them up neatly against the bedside cabinet.

“Eh, not all that much.” He said, getting to his feet. “But I _am_ good at dealing with drunks.” He grinned, placing the bottle of water he'd picked up beside her. “Make sure you drink plenty of that before you go to sleep. Are you gonna be okay from here?”

“Nooooo!” She wailed, stretching her arms out towards him. “Stay and talk to me for a while.”

Jesus snorted and perched on the edge of the bed. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I don't think-” She hiccuped and groaned, pulling herself up so that she was leaning back against the large headboard. “I don't think you want your boyfriend to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh? How do you figure that?” Jesus lifted an eyebrow and did a damn good job of seeming incredulous.

“B- Because you don't look at him the same way you look at Daryl. Don't talk to him the same. Weren't in no hurry to follow him inside-” Tara hiccuped again and quickly took a drink of water. Jesus froze slightly. Had what he thought was confined to his own mind been _that_ obvious? Even worse, if Tara had noticed, maybe Kal had too? He couldn't deny that the conversation with Daryl was easier, he found himself laughing more, and he found that he was growing closer to the guy despite himself, finding that when he left Hilltop, when he left Daryl behind, he couldn't wait to get back there - which wasn't something that usually happened. On paper, Jesus had very little in common with him, from their backgrounds - or what little Jesus knew of Daryl's, and what he could deduce from the things he gave away - to their tastes in music, but against all the odds, there was a click. With Kal, things had started out simply enough, a relationship borne out of a mixture of comfort and convenience, and talking didn't matter all that much. Now it felt like the more time he spent with him, the more he realised that the attraction on his part didn't stretch much further beyond the physical, though he was almost positive Kal didn't think the same and Jesus found himself dodging conversations to avoid broaching the subject, mainly from the guilt of knowing eventually he was going to have to let him down, though he knew he couldn't keep that up forever.

“It's not that.” Jesus denied, shaking his head. “I think getting attached to anyone these days is a bad idea.”

“Oh, it is _not_.” Tara scoffed, and Jesus had to admit that it surprised him, considering what had happened to Denise. “I don't believe that, and I'm pretty sure you don't either.”

“Even after everything?” Jesus asked, somewhat surprised that Tara disagreed, given what she'd been through.

“Yep.” She nodded, like she'd never been so sure of anything in her life. “Nobody knows how long anyone's got, but hasn't that always been the way? If I'd have met Denise before, she could've gotten hit by a bus, she could have gotten sick. Sure, things are more dangerous now but that just makes the connections you do make with people even more important. I'd rather let someone know how much I care about them than regret not saying anything after they're gone.”

“I think you might be braver than me.” Jesus smiled slightly, before sighing. “Look, I don't even know what he thinks about it-”

“I _knew it_!” Tara declared triumphantly before waving her hand encouragingly. “Sorry, carry on.”

“We're friends. This could all go one way. I mean, I don't even know if he's into dudes, never mind anything else.”

“Well, I can't help you there. He keeps most things pretty close to his chest.”

“From what he's told me, even if he is, I'm not sure being 'out and proud' was ever an option where he comes from.” Jesus rubbed the back of his neck, the mere thought of broaching the subject with the man himself was enough to give him palpitations. “I just don't want to mess things up. I open my big mouth now, and I've lost a friend. I think too much of him for that.”

“You don't know that's gonna happen. You can't tell me you're not tempted to find out.” Tara leaned forwards, nudging Jesus' arm playfully.

“The temptation is tempered slightly by crippling anxiety, to be honest.” Jesus chuckled, even though he wasn't joking. “Look, I don't make friends all that easily. I'd rather keep a good one and push the rest of it to the back of my mind.”

“Well, I think you're wrong, but what do I know? I'm just the lousy drunk that threw up in your garden.” Tara smirked.

“You're a fun drunk, though.” Jesus consoled her, gesturing to the water bottle. “I'm gonna go and not sleep. Make sure you finish that.”

“Alright, I guess it's high time I passed out, anyway.” Tara sighed, opening her arms out and pulling Jesus into an affectionate hug. “Thank you for escorting me home. You're a gentleman.”

“You're welcome.” Jesus grinned and returned the embrace before getting to his feet. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Tara waved and flopped back heavily against the pillows, almost on her way to sleep before Jesus even got out of the door.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, Jesus paused in the hallway, half tempted to just head back to his own trailer in the yard and get his head together. In the sitting room, a pair of scruffy boots hung over the arm of the red couch in the middle of the room and a thin trail of smoke rose upwards from the other end. He was beginning to think that Daryl never actually slept in the bedroom he'd been given these days.

After a moment's hesitation, Jesus walked away to knock on Kal's door.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back?

Because he'd been lying under a car for the best part of the morning after the others had headed back to Alexandria, it wasn't until late in the afternoon that Daryl realised he hadn't seen Jesus all day. Usually he showed up with tea or food, and usually Daryl laughed at him for acting like a mother hen whilst being quietly appreciative of the gesture. He was beginning to get the impression that the Hilltop locals were trying to fatten him up. Mrs A showed up with a plate of cookies that reminded him of home and the poor woman looked like she might have a heart attack when he unexpectedly hugged her, carefully keeping his motor oil covered hands well away from her dress. Sometimes, he worried that the place was making him soft, and even more worryingly, he wasn't sure that he minded all that much. As much as he loved his family and friends back at Alexandria, The Hilltop, maybe with the exception of Gregory, had made him feel more at home than he ever did there.

Wiping his hands on a dirty rag that was doing very little to get them clean, he headed into Barrington House and immediately bumped into Kal, who gave him a small nod of acknowledgement.

“Y'seen Jesus?” He asked, and Kal looked visibly annoyed by the question, which he found odd.

“On the gate. Pulled a double.” He said with a shrug and quickly made his exit before Daryl could question him further.

“Well y'don't gotta be a dick about it..” Daryl muttered and headed into the kitchen, boiling a kettle and preparing a preparing a pot of tea which he then carefully carried across the yard to the watchtower. The teapot appeared at the top of the ladder before Daryl did, and Jesus peered over the side of the wooden scaffold.

“What are you doing?” Jesus asked, eyebrow raised.

“Thought you might want a drink bein' as you've been up here sulkin' all day.” Daryl clambered onto the platform Jesus was sitting on. “Shift yer ass.”

Jesus complied, shifting over so Daryl could sit down, muttering. “I'm not sulking.”

“Bullshit. And I don't know if it's a coincidence but I asked Kal where you were and he looked at me like I just slapped his mother.”

Jesus snorted and shook his head. “Yeah well, I'm not his favourite person right now.” Sighing, he let his head thump lightly against the wood behind him. “I suggested we call time on things and go back to being friends and wouldn't you know? Not a fan.”

“But he took 'no' for an answer, right?” Daryl asked quickly, with a protective glare in his eye that said if he didn't get the answer he wanted, he was about to go and bust someone's head.

“What?” Jesus looked confused for a moment, then shook his head. “Oh shit, Yeah. Of course he did.” Jesus assured him, surprised that Daryl was so quick to jump to that particular conclusion. “It just wasn't working out. Well. Not for me.”

“He'll get over it.” Daryl said with a slight shrug. “I mean, I ain't no expert but he'll pro'lly come 'round.”

“You're probably right.” Jesus laughed for the first time that day, at the clumsy attempt to make him feel better. “Thanks for the tea.”

“S'alright.” Daryl said, lighting a cigarette and handing Jesus the pack.

“How's your head? You were half a bottle of Whiskey deep by the time I went in.” He asked, periodically checking over the wall. It had been, like most days, quiet.

“Don't get hangovers.” Daryl boasted, tapping ash over the side of the scaffold. “'Cept one time when me and Merle got into a crate of moonshine. Christ, I didn't know someone could puke that many times. Should'a pro'lly gone the hospital but Merle was all ' _Don't be a fuckin' pussy, Darylina!'_ ” The nickname slipped out before he even realised what he was saying. That happened a lot around Jesus and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with it.

“Darylina!” Jesus cackled. “Well, that's... inventive.”

“You forget I said that.” Daryl warned.

“Understood.” Jesus said with a nod, although he most certainly wouldn't. “Although, I mean.. he could have called you worse things.”

“He did.” Daryl said, though now he was gone he liked to remember the better memories. The moments when they were close.

“Oh.” Jesus said with a slight frown, sensing that wasn't something Daryl wanted to really delve into right then. “You know, it's a good thing you came up. I was nearly falling asleep up here.” He added, trying to change the subject.

“Well it's your dumbass fault for pullin' a double.” Daryl pointed out. “Y'could have come and hung out with me in the shop if you wanted to keep outta the way.”

“Well, at least I know that now. For future reference, when I want to avoid people, I'll come find you.” Jesus smiled. “Least I've only got a couple of hours now, I just felt like I owed Kal something so I took his shift.”

Daryl grunted disapprovingly, extinguishing his cigarette on the sole of his boot. Jesus was about to open his mouth to speak again when a loud crack echoed over the wall and he sprang to his feet. In the distance, he could see several trucks steaming towards Hilltop and, from where he was standing, they didn't look like they were coming from Alexandria.

“Go get Maggie and take her up to the tower.” He said, turning to look at Daryl.

“Is it them?” Daryl asked, already heading for the ladder.

“I think so.” Jesus looked out again with a frown. “They weren't due today. Something's up.”

Despite every instinct he had telling him to stay and stand his ground on the chance that the Saviors had turned up to cause trouble, he reluctantly climbed the rest of the way down and raced indoors, finding Maggie in the kitchen.

“Saviors.” Was all he had to say, and they raced up several flights of stairs and pulled down the ladder to the tower. They climbed up and pulled the hatch closed, huddling close as the sound of the truck's engines roared, tires skidding through the dirt as they swung through the gates. At first, Daryl assumed they had just arrived on an unscheduled visit to take their cut of Hilltop's belongings, until a familiar, booming voice could be heard from the yard.

“Negan?” Maggie whispered with wide eyes, and Daryl stretched up, peering over the wooden wall they were sat behind. Sure enough, the murderous leader of the Saviors was already out in the yard, pacing intimidatingly in front of a gathered crowd of people. Daryl turned and nodded, his own pulse beginning to race. He hadn't seen Negan since the others had pulled him out of Sanctuary and the sight of him brought it all back. He slowly sat back down and tried to mask his fear Maggie's sake.

“We're gon' be alright.” He assured her. “We've just gotta sit right here and do nothin'. They'll leave soon enough.”

“Shame we didn't bring a sniper up here.” Maggie narrowed her eyes, the mere distant sound of Negan's voice enough to fill her with rage. She would have killed him with her bare hands if someone was willing to give her half a chance.

“Even if we got 'im, those fuckers would go to town on the others. Can't risk it.” He frowned.

“I know.” Maggie sighed, aggravated that they had been reduced to hiding in a crawl space.

“Soon.” Daryl said with a slight smirk.

“I'd drink to that, if I could.” She agreed. “Let's just hope he doesn't spend too much time shootin' his damn mouth off and leaves. No offence, but I had better things to do with my night than hangin' around up here.”

Back down in the yard, Jesus was stood at the front of the group, his arms folded and watching with barely masked disdain as Negan performed for his captive audience.

“Come gather round, my little worker bees!” He held his arms out and the rest of Hilltop's residents slowly joined the group. “If you could hurry your asses up, I'd appreciate it.” He asked in a commanding tone, and the stragglers raced to catch up. Once he was sure everyone was assembled, he pointed Lucille towards them. “You know the drill. On your knees.”

The entire group immediately did as they were asked, though Jesus was a little slower than most. He was having a terrible day as it was and the addition of the presence of _that_ asshole only served to piss him off even more.

“People!” Negan began, strolling and swinging Lucille as he went. “I don't know how many times I've said it, but I'll say it again because some of you _fuckheads_ don't seem to be getting the message. You step outta fuckin' line, you're gonna fuckin' pay, y'got it?” A vague murmur of agreement rippled through the group and he continued. “So what do I find out when Simon here comes back with supplies? I find out that you assholes have been harbouring a _fugitive_.”

 _Fuck_. Jesus bit the inside of his lip and winced. He'd had eyes on Gregory the entire time, there was no way he could have told them. His eyes scanned the assembled crowd for signs of guilt.

“See, one of _my_ guys had a little chat with someone, and as it turns out, she really, _really_ didn't want her husband goin' on a date with the lovely Lucille here.” Negan chuckled, admiring his bat. “I _really_ can't think why.”

A small sob rang out from the group, and Jesus turned to see Mrs. Abernathy, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks and a face contorted with guilt. She caught Jesus' eye and sniffled.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay.” He held out a hand to calm her, knowing it was too late to get angry with her for it now. Hell, if he'd been in the same situation, maybe he would have done the same thing.

“Now, you all fuckin' know that shit doesn't fly with me.” Negan glowered menacingly, the anger in his voice rising. “Every last one of you have let me down. Well, people, you know what that means-”

Jesus turned just in time to see Negan suddenly bring Lucille down hard, and in that instant the world slowed down. There was a crunch followed by a wet slapping sound as barbed wire and wood shattered bone and met with the soft matter underneath.

“ _Jesus.._ ”

His eyes widened and he let out a choked sound, almost doubling over as Kal turned to look at him shakily, a slow ooze of vivid red blood sliding down his face.

“ _Help... me.._ ”

Jesus made a small, choked sound as the bat came down again, this time sending Kal's body sprawling to the floor. The blows rained down mercilessly after that, now that Negan had let Kal realise exactly what was happening to him before finishing the job. All Jesus could do was look on, frozen in horror.

“God _damn_ , I love it when they try and talk. _Jesus help me!_ ” He cackled, blood spattering his face and neck, trickling down the leather of his jacket whilst Lucille shone red. “So now we've got that, uh, _unpleasantness_ out of the way-” He stood back and bellowed towards the house. “Daryl! Why don'tcha come on out here before I have to make even more of a mess of these nice people's lawn?”

Up in the tower, Daryl was already lowering the hatch, both of them having watched the horror unfold below them.

“I'll come down with you.”

“ _No_. He only knows about me. They're gon' hurt somebody else.” He said, holding his hand out. “Stay up here until they're gone.”

She nodded wordlessly, understanding but almost certain this was the last time she'd ever see him. Once he was down, She watched him disappear and pulled up the ladder before sinking into the corner, not able to bring herself to watch what was coming next.

 _”Daryl_!” Negan shouted again, swinging Lucille in a circle, “I ain't gonna ask you again, asshole!”

Just in time, Daryl emerged from the front door, his hands raised in surrender.

“You want me, you got me. You can leave these people alone, now.” Daryl urged, walking down the steps and placing himself at the front of the crowd.

“Well, I _Could_ -” Negan agreed, even seeming to consider it. “But see, there's something I've learned about you, Daryl. Hurting you doesn't work and _lord_ knows I tried. Killing you is too damn easy and, as I've told you before, a god damn waste. Hell, even leavin' you with the world's worst babysitters didn't do shit! ” He grinned, leaning in uncomfortably close. Daryl grimaced at the sensation of hot breath against his ear. “But I figured it out. I know exactly what it takes to break you.”

Daryl squinted at Negan before his plan became abundantly clear.

“Boys! Take the hippie in the trenchcoat and put him in the back of the van.” He grinned, and two of his heavies immediately hooked their arms under Jesus' and dragged him away. Daryl's chest seized and he fought to keep the sudden terror from his face as he watched. Jesus looked dazed, still in shock from seeing Kal being so brutally beaten. Negan flung his arm around Daryl's shoulder and led him to the van too before shoving him inside. “Sit tight, kids! We're gonna go on a little trip!” He beamed and slammed the door on both of them.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Daryl growled, slamming the side of the van with his fist. He'd gotten so comfortable that he'd almost been able to forget that his mere presence was putting everyone at Hilltop in danger. He should have moved on sooner, found somewhere else so nobody else would get hurt. He took a deep breath and crawled over to where Jesus was sitting, knees drawn up to his chest and a wide-eyed, blank expression, his fists clenched and shook at his sides. Gently, Daryl placed his hand on his shoulder and sat next to him. “Man, I'm sorry.”

Jesus' breaths came in short and sharp and he shook his head, holding back everything that was threatening to burst out of him. He wasn't about to let Negan see how much damage he'd done - that was exactly what he wanted.

“We're gonna get out of this.” Daryl assured him, although it was questionable who he was trying to convince more. Jesus continued to stare ahead impassively and seeing him go from his usual self to a thousand yard stare was almost more unnerving than anything Negan could do.

The van's front doors swung open and Negan and Simon climbed in jovially.

“Now you kids pipe down back there, y'hear?” Negan chortled, banging the flat of his hand on the dashboard.

Jesus lowered his head and closed his eyes, trying to take in a calming breath until a hand found his, pulling it down to his side where it couldn't be seen before Daryl's fingers locked with his. He looked up questioningly and Daryl held on tighter.

“We're gonna get out of this.” He mouthed quietly.

That time, Jesus almost believed him.

 

* * *

 

They must have driven for a good five hours, Jesus and Daryl both suffering through Simon and Negan's raucous banter in uncomfortable silence, listening to all the bullshit stories they told and the boasts of conquests and murders. Of course there was an extended monologue about Glenn, and Daryl's jaw clenched, doing his best to block it out, instead opting to focus on the hand gripping his like a vice. The van rolled to a stop and Daryl could see it was pitch black outside, and from what he could see through the windows, he didn't think they were at Sanctuary, which probably wasn't a good sign. Without talking to either of them, Negan swung open the van's rear doors and pointed his bat at Jesus.

“You. Out.”

Out of sight, Jesus reluctantly let go of Daryl's hand. He got to his feet and ducked his head as he climbed out. Negan clapped Jesus on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger and Daryl once again had to resist the urge to attack.

“Don't look so worried, Daryl!” Negan grinned. “I'm gonna take real good care of him, you wait and see. I'll come back for you in a little while. I've, uh, left some company out here for you, just in case you were thinking of trying anything stupid.” He was about to turn away before adding. “But I'm sure you know what's gonna happen if you do.”

With that, the van doors slammed closed again and Daryl was left alone with a familiar sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

 

* * *

 

By the time Negan had returned, night had turned to early morning and at some point between then and him leaving, Daryl had fallen asleep out of exhaustion, only to be woken by an enthusiastic cry.

“Wakey wakey, asshole!” Simon flung the doors open and Daryl squinted against the light, raising his hand to protect his eyes from the sun. “Get your ass out here!”

Daryl unfolded himself, joints cracking as he moved and slowly climbed out of the van to find Negan stood with his back to him, hands on his hips. They were once again surrounded by woodland, bright rays of sunshine filtering through jagged, bare trees. It would have been a beautiful day if it wasn't for the shitty company.

“Ahh, it's a beautiful mornin', ain't it?” He said, turning on his heel. “Feels like good weather for a scavenger hunt, don't you think?”

Daryl stared at him blankly, and Negan rolled his eyes.

“Oh, you're gonna be awesome at this, I can tell.” Negan reached into his jacket and produced a walkie talkie, offering it to Daryl who took it with a puzzled look on his face. “Go on, I got somebody you'll wanna talk to.”

Narrowing his eyes, Daryl pushed the button.

“Hello?”

Nothing but static came through from the other end. Huffing, Negan fiddled with the dial on the top before urging him to try again.

“Hello?”

Somewhere, some distance away, Jesus was slowly regaining consciousness. Negan and Simon had made him walk for miles until the henchman had suddenly struck him on the bridge of his nose with the butt of a rifle, knocking him out cold. He didn't remember much else after that. His head throbbing, he stretched his arm, only to find a hard sheet of wood in his way. Slowly, he patted his hand downwards, then above his head, and it dawned on him what had happened. Panic clutched in his chest as he squirmed frantically in the pitch darkness, hammering violently at the planks of wood above him, only for dirt to fall downwards through the cracks between them, fragments dropping into his mouth as he thrashed helplessly. Sucking in a breath, he yelled out for help, not hearing the walkie talkie on the floor beside him. The second time, he heard the unmistakeable sound of Daryl's voice and he frantically scrabbled around until he found the device, fingers groping around for the button.

“Daryl?” He asked shakily.

On the other end of the line, Negan had snatched the walkie out of Daryl's hands and was leaning on him, elbow casually resting on his shoulder.

“Y'comfortable down there, little man?” Negan asked with a smirk, and Daryl shot daggers at Simon's snickering to the side of him. “Go 'head, tell your buddy where you are.”

The tinny voice echoed but the fear in Jesus' voice was plain to hear.

“I think I'm..” The speaker crackled. “Daryl.. I think they _buried_ me.”


	16. Chapter 16

Negan doubled over with laughter, honking out loud, knee-slapping belly laughs and Daryl felt the same urge rise in his guts like he did when the Savior in the bathroom tried to put his hands on him, but there were guns trained on his head and even if he did take out Negan, he wouldn't survive much longer, and then Jesus would be out there alone with no hope of rescue. He hated tight spaces himself, and he'd struggle to come up with a more terrifying way to go. The thought of Jesus having to endure it was enough to keep him rooted to the spot. 

“Did you hear that?” Negan looked at Simon, wiping tears from his eyes. “He's pissing his pants!” 

Daryl was practically vibrating with rage and he'd never had to try so hard to hold it back. 

“Now, I'm not an unreasonable guy. I'm gonna give you something to help.” He walked over to the van and reached into the passenger side, returning with a very small gardening trowel that he handed over to Daryl with a flourish. “See? I don't just dole out favours to anyone, do I?” He looked over at Simon and the others, who all shook their heads and said 'No' in unison. “I figure you could use it to, y'know, try and dig him up.” Negan laughed and looked like he was about to leave when he turned on his heel dramatically, like he'd been rehearsing this all day. 

“Oh! Just one other thing.” He began, again standing much too close as he draped an arm around Daryl's shoulder. “Hilltop and Alexandria. You can consider them _my_ property, and you'd best fuckin' believe that I can and will stand my motherfuckin' ground when it comes to trespassers.” He lifted Lucille, still stained and gummed up with gore, and pressed it to the side of Daryl's neck. “Any time I see you _anywhere_ near my property, I will beat the holy _shit_ out of one of your buddies and make you watch. One by one, until there ain't none of 'em left. Every single one of them - men, women _and_ children. Y'got it?” 

“You wouldn't.” Daryl said gruffly. Negan didn't take kindly to it and grabbed him by the hair, jerking his head sideways. Lucille's teeth scraped the skin of his throat. 

“You want to try me, fucker?” He asked menacingly. 

Daryl grunted frustratedly and Negan let go with a shove. 

“I'd say you can keep that little bastard we put in the ground but by my watch..” He checked his wrist. “He's probably got about one and a half, two hours of air at the most, and that's if he doesn't panic, which he probably already is.” Sighing, he shook his head. “It's a shame. He could have been useful to me, but how else are you gonna learn? The more you fuck with me, the more blood is gonna be on your hands. This is just the start - until you realise you're on the wrong side. I'll be seein' you.” Negan left Daryl with a final shove and his followers piled into the two vans they'd brought with them, spinning their wheels as they drove away, sending mud flying up from the ground and splattering Daryl's clothes as one last 'fuck you', like they hadn't already crammed in plenty of them that day. 

He took a deep breath and held the walkie talkie up to his mouth. 

“They've gone.” He said, “I'm comin' for you. Do you remember the last place you were?” 

“Uh..” Jesus' terror was evident in his voice and Daryl could hear the breathlessness. “They took me straight ahead from the back of... of the van, took a right about an hour later, maybe half an hour. After that is a blank.” 

“Hey, it's a start.” Daryl said comfortingly, keeping his voice even and level for Jesus' sake, though he was really hoping he was overestimating the time. Spotting the trail of footprints in the mud, he followed them down a bank and deeper into the trees. The damp ground had left pretty good prints, but there was no guarantee they'd continue. “Look, I know it's hard but I need you to keep calm.” 

“ _Keep calm_?!” Jesus asked incredulously. “I'm _in the fucking ground_!” 

“I'm not sayin' it to be an asshole! You need to make the air last!” He interrupted before the other man got any more agitated. “Listen to me. I've got a trail, I just need as much time as you can give me, right?”

“Right.” Jesus agreed, clutching the walkie-talkie to his chest and shakily trying to even his breathing.

“I'm gonna go quiet for a little while, but I'm still here. I'll keep checkin' in.” Daryl explained, knowing that talking was only going to use up the oxygen just as quick. “Just try and keep yer head.” 

“'Kay.” Jesus said, his voice suddenly sounding small and brittle. Guilt gnawed at Daryl's guts as he darted between the trees, having to be just as vigilant for walkers as he was for the trail that Negan had left behind, especially as he was only armed with the trowel that Negan had so generously given him. The sky was darkening overhead and if rain was coming, he needed to find Jesus before it washed the trail away. 

Even deeper into the woods, Jesus was trying to remember how to meditate. There was a time when he could just drift into it easily, but right then and there the technique was lost amongst several other voices, reminding him where he was and what was about to happen to him. He was going to suffocate in there, he was going to turn. The more he struggled with it, the more frustrated he got and it spilled out of him in another frantic plea for help, hammering his fists against the lid in the vain hope that there might be someone above ground to hear it. Closing his eyes, he let Daryl's advice replay in his mind and strangely, he found that calmed him more than his previous attempts. His foot tapped out a nervous rhythm against the side of the box and he tried not to notice the way the box seemed to get smaller and smaller the longer he stayed in there. 

“Hey.” 

Jesus snapped out of it again and eagerly answered the call. “Hey.” 

“I've still got your tracks. Think I found where they knocked you out.” Daryl said, pausing by a cluster of trees where three sets of bootprints turned into two prints and a drag mark. 

“I think that asshole broke my nose.” Jesus frowned, reaching up to poke at the tenderness on the bridge of his nose, wincing when he found a large cut right across it. “Ow.” 

Daryl's nose wrinkled, skidding down yet another steep bank that the prints had led to. Judging by the look of things, Negan and Simon walked and had more or less thrown Jesus down it, which he was sure they found hilarious. He bristled with anger until Jesus could be heard being audibly dumb down the walkie-talkie after complaining about his nose. “...Did you just fuckin' touch it?”

“He ruined my face.” Jesus frowned. “I'm going to die with a ruined face.” 

“Jesus fucking christ-” Daryl let out a slightly despairing laugh, and with perfect timing - because boy, did the universe like to fuck him over - he felt the first spots of rain falling. “We've got worse shit to be worried about right now. Rain's comin'. Hang tight, I can't be far off now.” 

“Do you mind if I keep talking?” Jesus asked. “Freaks me out less if it feels like I've got some company.” 

“Alright.” Daryl agreed reluctantly, wondering if he imagined a slight slur in Jesus' voice. Like he'd lit up a joint in there or something. “You feelin' okay?” 

“I've been better.” Jesus said. His head was spinning a little but then he had just been cracked in the face. He hadn't been down there that long, had he? “Tired, I guess.” 

“You ain't falling asleep.” Daryl ordered, realising what was going on and that time was getting short. The rain was getting heavier and he could see ahead of him that the trails he was following were starting to fade. Some yards in front, there was a few straggling walkers, milling around between the trees and stumbling aimlessly. Wondering if they could have been drawn by the sound of Negan putting Jesus in the ground, he readied the trowel and stalked forwards quietly, rounding the tree trunks and slamming the tool through the side of the first walker's skull before stepping back and sneaking up on the others. Much to his surprise, the implement was much more effective at taking them out than he was expecting. Unfortunately, his hunch turned out to be wrong. Looking around the area, he couldn't find any disturbed earth, nor signs that anything had been buried recently. 

“Fuck!” He growled, booting a tree furiously. The rain was torrential by then, and every dint and crack in the ground filled with water, washing away any remnants of Negan's trail. It reminded him of the time he lost Beth. He tailed that damn car for miles but once the rain came, it was in the wind and after that things didn't get any better. He rubbed his face in annoyance, pacing around for even the smallest signpost to tell him where Jesus could be. 

“Daryl.” Jesus' voice crackled over the radio. 

“Yep.” He sighed, shivering as his sodden clothes clung to his skin. 

Jesus took a long breath before he spoke. “You're not gonna find me.” 

“I'm still lookin'! Damn it, Jesus-” Daryl snapped, smearing his hair out of his eyes and walking east, just in the blind hope that he could find a clue. “Quit sayin' that shit.” 

“It's okay.” Jesus drawled, his voice becoming breathy and weaker with each word. “S'not on you. We've all.. we've all gotta go-” 

Daryl was frantic by that moment, still desperately searching for a shallow grave. “You ain't goin' fuckin' _nowhere_ , y'hear me, ya prick?” He yelled into the mouthpiece, his voice fraying at the edges. He couldn't lose someone else. Not now, and not like this. “ _Please_. Just hang _on_.”

Jesus was exhausted, he just wanted to sleep. His breaths were short and shallow and slowly, his eyelids getting heavy. The once panicked tapping of his boot had slowed to a slow thump. He wasn't sure if it was the oxygen ebbing away but by then he had succumbed to the inevitable. He supposed he'd had a good run. Hell, anyone who had made it this far had a good run, considering what had befallen everyone else. 

“Daryl, you- I need to tell you something.” 

“Y'don't!” Daryl interrupted, ripping at a canopy of leaves on the off-chance that they'd tried to hide where they'd put him. It sounded like Jesus was getting ready to say goodbye and he was stubbornly refusing to allow it. The voice in his head urged him to keep busy, keep moving. It wasn't over, yet. “Don't, you fucker!” 

“ _Please_.” Jesus implored. He took another breath and it felt like the ground was swaying, the floor of the coffin suddenly pliable and rippling under his back. He was losing track of his words and his thoughts but he continued to try and force them out. “You need to know- You need-” 

“ _Paul_?” Daryl asked nervously, almost not wanting to hear what was coming next but spurred on by the need to keep the other man awake and talking. His knuckles turned white as he clutched the walkie.“Hey, talk to me. What do I need to know?” 

“I don't-” He murmured, disorientated. “Can't think.. M'just gonna close my eyes for a minute.” 

Daryl had the urge to throw the radio. He didn't want to stand there listening to his friend die, not knowing there was something he could have done about it had he not been such a complete fucking failure. He was about to smash the thing when a vague noise that he heard after Jesus had finished talking gave him pause. 

“Jesus, I need you to hold down the button. Don't say anything, just hold it down.” He commanded, and after a moment's pause the telltale crackle came out of the speaker and the same noise he thought he'd heard before. It was faint, but there was a distant muffled noise that matched up perfectly with a bird he could hear himself from where he was standing. Realising that the trail wasn't quite cold yet, he ran as fast as he could in the direction of the sound, his boots skidding through thick, wet mud and having several near misses with concealed branches underfoot. The call led him to an area where the trees opened out to a grassy clearing that offered even less protection from the weather, and that's when he spotted it. A conspicuous mound of soil just rising above the grass and a hastily constructed cross made out of twigs jammed into the top of it.

“ _Shit_.” He hissed, racing over to the pile and wasting no time digging it out and praying to whoever was listening that they hadn't put him six feet under. If Jesus wasn't already lost, he surely would be before he could reach him. He quickly realised that the trowel was useless at best but in the absence of anything else was still better than nothing. Daryl frantically tossed dirt over his shoulder until he struck something solid. From first impressions, the makeshift coffin was obviously hastily put together, wooden slats nailed onto the top of the box haphazardly, but certainly secure enough to keep someone locked inside with a huge pile of dirt to hold it in place . Cold air burned his throat as he continued to dig until he was finally able to slide the trowel's edge under the wood and lever it upwards, the thin planks splitting in his hands and the splinters in his flesh doing nothing to slow him down. 

“Paul!” He yelled, once he'd managed to bust a big enough hole in the lid to reach down and drag Jesus out of there by his arms and onto the wet grass. His skin was pale and he was obviously out cold, if not worse, but Daryl wasn't prepared to accept the worst case scenario yet. Leaning down, he checked to see if the unconscious man was still breathing. Panic gripped him as he initially felt nothing, but eventually, he felt a light, extremely shallow huff of air against his ear. Jesus wasn't out of danger, but it was better than nothing at all. He shook Jesus' shoulders, tapping each of his cheeks with the back of his hand to try and get him to wake up. 

“Hey!” He said loudly, shaking him again, glancing over his shoulder for anything that might be heading their way. “Hey Jesus, I ain't got time for you to stay dead for three days!” He bellowed, hoping that sheer obnoxiousness would annoy him into waking up. It took another shake before Jesus' eyes opened and rolled slightly, and he let out a small grunt before rolling onto his side and coughing violently, choking as cold air filled his lungs. Daryl slouched and let out a long, relieved breath but kept an eye open, acutely aware of how exposed they were to walkers, and how ill prepared they were to deal with them. 

“Ugh,” Jesus groaned, slowly easing himself up to his knees, still panting heavily as he remembered how to breathe properly again. “Remind me never to try that again.” He joked, and Daryl looked up at him in surprise that the man could speak, let alone crack wise, but Jesus' face said he didn't find it all that funny either. 

“We should get outta here.” Daryl advised. “Ain't safe.” 

“Where is?” Jesus asked grimly, and got to his feet. Daryl rose with him, scooping up the trowel on the way and it was just as well. He didn't look steady on his feet and Daryl readied himself to break his fall if he stumbled. “We should head back. We might make it back to Hilltop in a day on foot if we keep up the pace.” 

“We can't.” Daryl admitted guiltily, not wanting to heap on the bad news but seeing no point in lying either. “If he catches either of us anywhere near Alexandria or Hilltop, says he's gonna hurt people. Not just the men, either.” 

Jesus sighed, because _of course_. Negan's punishments were never straightforward, and he probably hadn't expected Daryl to find him in time. On the upside, he supposed that Negan assuming he was dead wasn't such a bad thing, really. He wouldn't be looking out for him. “D'you believe he'd do that?” Jesus asked, because whilst he might have murdered Rory, he had a hard time believing he'd hurt younger kids, at least. 

“I ain't willin' to take that risk.” Daryl shrugged. “Y'said it yourself, he kills people _just because_. I ain't got no reason to doubt it. Negan ain't right up there.” He scowled, tapping his finger against his temple. “He acts like he's got a code but it don't mean shit. If he wants somethin', he's gonna get it one way or another - how the hell d'you think he got this far, with all them people kneelin' for him? I mean _shit_ , Jesus - that basket case just put you in the ground to fuck with me, y'really think he's got a limit?” 

“So, what do we do? We've got no weapons, no food-” Jesus asked despairingly, looking up at the darkening sky, the rainclouds drowning out the light even earlier than usual. 

“We start walkin'.” He replied simply, and turned towards the path where the woods started again. 

Jesus huffed out a humourless laugh and, for the lack of any better plans, nodded his head, hobbling a little as he followed Daryl closely, hoping his faith in the other man was well placed.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took entirely too long didn't it? Apologies for the erratic updates to anyone who's still following this mess, lol.

The weather was not on either of their sides that day, just when it felt like it couldn't rain any more, it seemed to get heavier. The trees provided little cover, and Jesus' feet squelched unpleasantly in his boots where water was leaking into the holes. Still, it was something to focus on other than the rest of the day's events and the uncomfortable ache in his chest from coughing. He glanced up at the dark sky and frowned. 

“Do you have an idea of where we are?” He asked, looking to Daryl who was at that point absolutely drenched. 

“Nuh.” He grumbled, aggravated by the fact that he didn't. The one thing that kept him level when everything else was spinning out of control was that he could find his way, but now he was disorientated, and struggling to get his bearings. He didn't want to let Jesus in on that fact though, figuring it would only serve to add more shit to their ever mounting pile. “They drove about five hours out but I don't know what direction they were headed. If I could get my hands on a map, I could at least get some idea.” 

“I'll put it on the shopping list.” Jesus half-joked, stuffing his hands in his pockets to mask the slight tremor that hadn't stopped since Daryl dragged him out of that hole in the ground. “You know, I should have said it earlier.. but thanks for getting me out of there in time. I was pretty sure I was a gonner.” 

“I thought you were too for a while back there.” Daryl admitted, his gaze momentarily meeting Jesus'. “Glad you weren't. How are you doin', anyway?” 

“Honest answer?” Jesus asked, and Daryl nodded once. “I don't think I know.” 

Daryl could understand that. Sometimes so much shit could get hurled at you in one day that it could be difficult to process. Hell, sometimes he couldn't get his head around one damn thing, let alone this shitshow of a day. 

“Y'got any smokes?” Jesus asked, and Daryl frowned, patting his clothes until he found the pack he'd shoved in his pocket before The Saviors showed up and ruined everyone's day. He passed Jesus the pack and paused to let him light one. Jesus fumbled with the lighter, struggling to make his thumb co-operate with the disposable lighter he was struggling to keep hold of. “Fuck.” 

“Here.” Daryl said, plucking it out of his hand and standing closer, letting Jesus block the wind with his hands whilst he lit the cigarette for him. “Better?” 

Jesus took a long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before shakily releasing it upwards. “Mm. Thanks.” He said with a nod, waiting for Daryl to light his own cigarette before they started walking again. “If we find a car, I know where we can go.” He said, walking close to Daryl and trying to keep his eyes peeled for walkers in the fading light. 

“Where?” He asked, “You know another place?” 

“Mm. The Kingdom.” Jesus said with a slight smile, knowing exactly how Daryl was about to react. 

“What in the shit? _Kingdom_?” Daryl squinted at him. “That some Dungeons and Dragons type shit or what?” 

“Well..” Jesus said ponderously. “Kinda? Their leader is a little, shall we say, _theatrical_.” 

“Oh, god..” Daryl groaned, sucking in smoke through his teeth. 

“I like him!” Jesus said defensively. “King Ezekiel. He's a good dude. He's fair, he's generous and on the upside for us, The Saviors don't come inside their walls.” 

“King. Christ..” Daryl rolled his eyes. “How did they persuade The Saviors to stay out?” 

“He's got a lot of produce, plenty of supplies and weapons. He has his people meet them a few miles away and as long as they keep giving The Saviors their share of supplies, they leave them alone. God knows how Ezekiel managed to swing it. Charm alone, probably. Only group I know of that hasn't had someone-” He paused, blinking away a sudden, unwanted flashback of Rory, of _Kal_. “You know.” 

“Mm.” He muttered, “Ain't gonna last forever. Only a matter of time before they try and change the terms - just for the hell of it, probably.” He shook his head, pausing at the sound of a breaking twig, and only moving again once he tracked the sound to a bird overhead. “Think we could persuade them to fight?” 

“Well. It's a pretty comfortable arrangement for them right now - but it's always worth a try. They're not likely to change their minds unless something drastic happens.” Jesus shrugged. “Hilltop trades with them, though. It used to be Kal and me doing the runs but... well, obviously they'll have to send someone else. When they send them out, we can get a message back to the others. We might not be able to go back to them, but nobody said they can't come to us.” 

“Might take a while. May as well be usin' carrier pigeons.” He grumbled, noting a discarded Coke can on the ground, and wondering if they might be any closer to civilisation. Frustratedly, he hoofed it into some long grass. 

“The people that matter will know we're safe. It's a start.” Jesus insisted, anticipating that it was likely Daryl would go stir crazy at The Kingdom just like he had at Hilltop before he settled into the idea of being penned in. “And then we can figure out where to go from there.” 

“Man, I wish there was a way of just takin' 'em all out in one hit.” Daryl scowled, “Just get it over with already.” 

“Even if we did, we tried that at the outpost. It's one thing taking out his heavies but their main base? There's not gonna be just assholes there.” Jesus reasoned. The idea was tempting, sure, but the thought of taking out innocents along with them didn't sit well in his soul. Not that any killing did, but he wasn't naive enough to think it wasn't necessary - especially in this case. “They've probably got other prisoners.” 

“Probably.” Daryl's lip curled slightly. With the exception of Sherry, he didn't run into many people worth saving. If anything, the assholes he had to deal with deserved worse than death, and Dwight wasn't exempt from that either, no matter how much he tried to redeem himself. “Ain't like Negan cares about that when it comes to us though.” 

“You can't tell me you'd be okay with that.” Jesus looked over at Daryl pointedly, “Killing people who haven't done anything except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. People who are there because they don't have a choice. Call me naive but I don't think you're that kind of person.” 

“You don't know that.” Daryl looked away. He didn't know where Jesus got this whole 'seeing the best in people' nonsense from, but he was certain he didn't know how to deal with it when it was pointed in his direction. “When it comes to us and them, I know who I'm pickin'.” 

“True.” He nodded. “I'm not dumb enough to think that people who've gotten by this long have got clean hands. The reason, though. That matters.” 

Daryl looked thoughtful, then nodded in agreement. He was about to speak again when there was a loud crack of breaking branches a few yards in front. Immediately, he stepped forward, nudging Jesus behind him and readying himself to fight. The light was almost gone, and it wasn't until the figure between the trees stepped forward that he realised that it wasn't a walker. 

“Fuck! _Finally_!” Dwight threw his arms up and came out of the shadows. “Been lookin' all over for you.” 

“What the hell?” Daryl narrowed his eyes. “You knew about this?” 

Jesus' heart was still pounding when he stepped out from behind Daryl, having convinced himself that it was Saviors coming to finish the job. 

“Hoooo-ly _shit_!” Dwight declared. “I did not expect to see you.” 

“Answer the question.” Daryl urged, audibly getting angrier. 

“I was out scavvin'. Heard 'em talking about what they'd done on the walkies.” He gestured to the radio on his belt. “I was in the area. Figured I'd come see if I could help.” Jesus nodded, but Daryl didn't look all too convinced. “They were pretty sure you weren't gonna find the hippy in time. Glad to see you did.” Dwight half-smiled, light bouncing off the waxy scar tissue that stretched at the corner of his mouth. “Come on. I left the bike back this way. There's a road that leads to a little town about a mile out. 

“ _My_ bike.” Daryl corrected grumpily, a little bit annoyed that Dwight had come to the rescue, of all people. “Y'mean you're gonna give it back so we can get outta here?” 

“You're kidding, right? We have to check everything in and out. He's gonna notice if I go back without the fuckin' bike.” 

“Tell 'em it broke down.” Daryl said, already realising he was on a hiding to nothing. 

“Then I gotta tell 'em why I didn't push it back. You've got my word, alright? When Negan is out of the way, you'll get your damn bike back.” 

“Because your word means so much-” 

“ _Hey_. I don't have to be out here helping you, man. I also didn't have to put a list of scheduled runs together, but I did that too.” He pulled several crinkled papers out of his pocket and shoved them in Daryl's direction. “Do with it what you will.” 

“He's got a point.” Jesus shrugged, and Daryl eyed him with a mild look of betrayal. “What? He does.” 

Daryl grunted in annoyance and took the papers, shoving them into his own pocket. 

“We're heading for The Kingdom.” Jesus told him, and Daryl looked uneasy about revealing that to Dwight, but let him press ahead anyway. He had to wonder how the guy had survived this long with his unfailing ability to see the best in nearly everyone. “Know which direction we should head from here?” 

“Head for the town, right on the road we're goin' for, then head north-east. Got a good day's drive ahead of you, though. There's a few cars out on the road - if you're lucky, you might find one that'll take you there.” 

“Got any spare weapons?” Daryl asked, “Negan didn't exactly leave us with the means to get out of here easy.” 

“Uh,” Dwight looked down, opening up the messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Not much in the way of firearms but when is there, right? I did pick up a couple of these. He doesn't know what I found, so I can spare 'em without raisin' any eyebrows.” He reached inside the bag and brought out two fairly decent sized hunting knives. “S'the best I can do.” 

“Thanks.” Jesus smiled, taking one and sliding it into his belt. Daryl took the other and Jesus glared at him until he finally made an appreciative noise. 

“Don't mention it.” Dwight smirked, having learned not to expect much more than that and, deep down, completely understanding it, considering. “Bike's just up here,” He pointed towards a cluster of bushes, a few yards from the edge of a road. “If you head right up there, there's a few cars around a hundred yards up on the left.” 

“D'you know if any of 'em are automatic?” Daryl asked, and Jesus titled his head to look at him, nose crinkled. 

“No idea, sorry.” He shrugged, “Beggars can't be choosers though, right?” 

“Can you not drive stick?” Jesus asked, clearly amused. 

“Sure I can drive stick.” He muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Was just wonderin' is all.” 

Dwight walked ahead and tugged the bike out of the hedge by it's handlebars, plucking a couple of stray twigs that had gotten caught under the tires. 

“This is my stop. You gonna be alright?” He asked over his shoulder, walking the bike out onto the road. 

“Yeah.” Jesus said with a small nod, relieved to be out in the open. “We appreciate the help.” 

“Well, we ain't gonna get Negan out of the picture without the numbers. 'Specially screwed without the ones who know how to look after themselves.” He started the bike, revving the engine a couple of times, making Daryl wince a little at the pained sound it made. “Good luck, boys.” Dwight raised a hand, then sped away. 

“Asshole.” Daryl grumbled, booting a rock as he started off down the road. 

“I've met worse.” Jesus shrugged. “I mean, at least now you haven't gotta kill the shamblers with a gardening tool.” 

“Gonna take more than that to stop me killin' him when all this is over.” He groused, glaring over his shoulder at the sight of his bike speeding away. “Ain't gonna be worth a shit once he's done with it.” Daryl made a mental note to add that to the list of reasons to kill Dwight. 

“Well, we'll put a pin in that for now.” Jesus said sarcastically. “For the minute can we just concentrate on finding a car before we end up stumbling around in pitch black, please?” 

“Y'right.” Daryl agreed sheepishly. “M'sorry.” 

“It's okay.” Jesus smiled a little. “Just one thing at a time, right? We'll get to it.” 

Daryl ducked his head, trying to hide a grin. “Yes, boss.”


End file.
